


You Have No Idea

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, I Tried, Roleplay, This is what you get when a seventeen year old tries to write kinky sex, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castle has a wild imagination, and Beckett's no prude, so it makes sense that their love life would reflect that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at fanfiction.net from March to August in 2012, I am now crossposting this series over at Ao3 along with all of my other work. It's a collection of smut onshots, all with the them of role-play. I was eighteen when I wrote this. Oh God. I knew nothing.

"It's cliché."

"No, cliché would be you as a nurse."

"You're a bestselling author and you can't think of anything more creative than this?"

"I certainly can, Detective. I just thought we'd start with something more universally well-known before we delved into other things."

"And just what 'other things' are we talking about, here?"

"Ah-ah! No telling."

There was a huffy breath and a roll of the eyes. Then…

"Fine. But  _I'm_  in charge."

"What? But I wanted to–"

"Do you want to do this or not?"

There was a long pause.

"Next time, I'll let you be in charge, okay? But this is the first time I've done this and–"

"Wait--what? Katherine Becket, Miss You-Have-No-Idea, has never tried this before?"

"Well, have you?"

There was another long pause.

"…No."

A smirk.

"I thought not."

"Beckeeeeett… please?"

"No, Castle."

"Okay, then. If you're in charge this time, I get to be in charge next time. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Awesome. Now, where…"

"Castle?"

"Yes?"

"Do you see where I'm looking?"

"At the murderboard?"

"Yes. Now, what does that mean?"

"We have a murder to solve."

"Good boy! I suggest we get to it."

"Do I detect a condescending tone, Detective?"

"From me? Never."

The third long pause of the conversation. And then…

"So, is there anything that I should wear?"

"How about a gag?"

* * *

Castle waited outside the door, trying to keep his breathing even. He was an intelligent, adventurous man with an excellent imagination and a healthy sex drive, thankyouverymuch. He really shouldn't be this nervous.

From inside the room could be heard the sounds of someone preparing something. There was the noise of something heavy being dragged across the room, and then the sound of curtains being drawn. Finally, a few skittering footsteps towards the door Castle was currently hovering by.

The person on the other side of the door stopped, and very faintly came the sound of someone taking deep breaths. Then the footsteps resumed, this time firm and determined.

He forced himself to walk over to the chair and sit down.

The door opened, and a clipped female voice called out.

"Richard Castle?"

He turned.

Beckett stood there in a crisp white coat that looked suspiciously like the lab coats worn by a certain M.E. and her interns. Her thick locks were tied back in a bun, with not a hair out of place. Her face was blank and professional, like when she was conducting an interrogation or interviewing a victim's family member. Or, like when she was beating his ass in poker.

She gave a small nod when she saw that she'd gotten his attention. "I'm Dr. Beckett, and I'll be examining you today. I'm ready to see you now."

Castle stood up and followed Beckett into his office. He had to work to keep his jaw from dropping upon entering the room.

Beckett had drawn the curtains, making it so that the tall lamp in the corner (a leftover from her apartment from when she'd moved into the loft) provided all the light in the room. It was more than enough to illuminate the space, however. She'd managed to somehow drag his desk away from the bookshelves and smack into the middle of the room. She had then cleared off his computer and all personal affects--most likely stashing them away in the desk's various drawers and cubby holes--and spread a long couch cushion on top (so  _that_  was where it went). A thin white sheet draped over the desk completed the "examination table." Castle noted that his enormous desk chair had been dragged over so that it was against the bookshelves, out of the way.

The sound of the door clicking closed behind him snapped him out of his observational reverie, and he turned to face Beckett. She looked him up and down critically, as if sizing him up… or figuring out how to proceed.

On her part, Beckett was loving this. She'd been nervous about the idea, far more than she'd cared to admit, but this wasn't as far out as she'd originally feared. She was in control, and she could do control. Hell, she'd thrived on it, especially in sexual situations. She loved pushing men to the limit, making them beg, feeling that rush of power.

Since that wild phase, she had mellowed somewhat, but that didn't mean that need for control had abated. And seeing that look on Castle's face… well, she could definitely get used to this.

"If you'll just strip down to your boxers, we can begin the physical," she said, trying to keep the smirk out of her voice. She was trying to sound professional, but she was pretty sure she was failing spectacularly.

Castle swallowed, but did as he was told. His sweater (he'd gone for casual that day) and jeans that were deceptively worn-looking (it was amazing how much people would pay for jeans that looked like a dog chewed on them) were folded neatly and placed on the desk chair. He turned, looking to Beckett, awaiting instructions.

Beckett held back a shudder of pleasure. She was never going to tire of seeing that chest of his--softened a little with age but still well-defined and oh, so sexy. She indicated the table.

"Sit, please," she said, hoping her voice wasn't as tight as her throat was. Castle sat, still not making a peep. She had a sneaky suspicion all this silence now would result in an awful lot of talking later.

Castle waited, sitting on the surprisingly comfy desk. He really did have nice couch cushions, didn't he? He'd have to make a point to appreciate them more often. He watched as Beckett stepped forward, her gaze cool and calculating. He swallowed, trying to wet his desert-dry throat. She had him right where she wanted him, and they both knew it.

Slowly, Beckett placed her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers wide and running her hands up his torso. She didn't fail to notice when Castle's breath hitched.

"You appear to be in good shape, Mr. Castle," she said, trying to keep her voice light and professional.

"I work out," he said lamely. He was much too entranced by Beckett's hands on his chest to think up a good line at the moment.

Beckett removed her hands from his body and walked around to the back of the table, placing her hands on his back this time and repeating her former actions. Her fingers skimmed just along the top of his boxers, and she delighted in watching the goosebumps that erupted.

There was the sound of something shifting behind him, and Castle felt the cushion dip a little Beckett moved. It wasn't until he felt her arms wrap around his waist and her chest press against his back, however, that he realized what she'd done. She'd climbed onto the desk and was now kneeling behind him, a few inches taller than he was she was on her knees and he was sitting.

"So tell me, Mr. Castle…" She breathed, her mouth right by his ear.

"Call me Rick," he said, his voice becoming husky as he struggled not to show how turned on he was.

Beckett didn't falter. "All right then, Rick," she said, her voice beginning to drop some of the professionalism. "So tell me… Rick… have you been experiencing any… discomfort, lately?"

He was experiencing some pretty big discomfort right now, as a matter of fact. He cleared his throat. "Actually, yes, I've been having a rather… embarrassing problem, lately."

"Oh?" Beckett had stopped running her hands over his body and slipped off the table. She walked back around to the front, facing him. "What kind of problem, Rick?"

If she didn't stop saying his name like that, this was going to end embarrassingly quickly. Castle focused on his breathing and tried to get a grip.

"I've been having difficulty achieving… finding release."

Beckett's quirked grin was anything but professional. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that," she said, her smile widening. It was her Sexy Kate smile, the one she reserved only for him.

"You know…" She said slowly, her hands coming up to toy with the top button of the lab coat. "In my experience, Rick, it's not usually a physical problem."

"It's not?" He was having a very hard time taking his eyes off of the button that Kate was fiddling with.

Kate shook her head. She was really, really enjoying this now. "No. My research shows that it's all a mental problem."

"Mental?" Making his mouth form words had suddenly become a problem as Kate began to unbutton the lab coat.

"What I'm saying, Rick, is that I don't think you're finding someone that is turning you on enough--someone who's enough of a challenge. You need someone who can drive you crazy, who can entice you… you need someone who's a mystery. You always need a mystery, don't you, Rick?"

The lab coat was open and hanging loose now. Slowly, with one deep breath for courage, Kate let it slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor. She wouldn't have minded keeping it on, but if Lanie found out what had happened in her lab coat Kate knew she'd be the next body under the M.E.'s knife.

Rick's eyes nearly fell out of his head.

How did… when did she… what the hell…

If his brain had been a computer, it would have been flashing red warning lights and screaming robotically _Warning:_ _Overload_.

Kate was wearing a lacy white thong and garter belt, with a strapless push-up bra that had so little fabric it barely deserved the name. The white lace of both pieces of lingerie was pretty much see-through, providing tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath.

Watching Rick's reaction, Kate breathed an inner sigh of relief. She didn't usually wear white, but she felt it fit the whole doctor-theme thing.

She stepped forward, sashaying her hips, entrancing him like a snake entrances a helpless sparrow. When she stood so that she was between her legs, she ran her hands up and cupped his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"I think that I should be able to take care of your… problem, don't you think, Rick?" She asked. "I find that it's usually best to be more hands-on with patients."

Rick swallowed. If she didn't take care of his 'problem' soon, he was going to burst.

Putting a hand on his chest, Kate gently pushed him so that he was lying on the desk, then climbed up and straddled him. She rubbed herself against him, her eyes shining as she watched him bite back a groan. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, reaching up and undoing her bun so that her hair spilled out over her shoulders and around their faces in all its cherry-scented glory.

"This won't hurt a bit."

Raising herself up again, Kate undid her bra with painful slowness, before cupping her breasts and massaging them with her hands. Her head fell back, her mouth open with pleasure as she rolled her nipples with her fingers. Rick watched, fascinated, frozen as she pleasured herself, one hand snaking down and pressing against her clit, the lacy fabric rubbing in delicious counterpoint.

When she started talking, he was pretty sure he was going to come undone right then.

"Hmm… this should… solve your problem, don't you think?" She hummed. "Oh…"

"Why don't you let me prove it to you?" He growled.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Yes, Rick… why don't you?"

She slid the thong down and off her long, creamy legs, before turning her attention to his boxers, getting them out of the way so she could take his cock in her hand. It was already hard enough for her to encase, but she wanted to tease him a little longer. She stroked him slowly, never breaking eye contact.

Rick tried to focus on something, anything, to distract him because this was too much, this was insane and  _holy shit_  she could not have looked sexier, her hair spilling around her, the amber of her eyes almost completely swallowed by her dark pupils, licking her lips with hunger as she stroked him.

He was about to open his mouth, to tell her to stop, that he was about to ruin the sheet and the smoking hot lingerie she was wearing, but then she did. He let out an involuntary groan of protest.

"Patient appears responsive." Kate's voice was more of a gasp than anything else. She remembered hearing the EMTs saying things like that when they were dealing with the injured.

She looked at him through lowered lashes. "Just one last test, Rick, and you'll be free to go."

Rick's fingers twitched to touch her, but that had been another thing they'd discussed (along with the whole who was in charge thing) and touching was not allowed unless permission was given. He sent up a quick prayer that permission would be quick in coming.

Kate raised herself up and slowly lowered herself onto him. They each sucked in a breath at the sensation, Rick's eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. She held that position a moment, not moving, just reveling in the feel of him in her. Then he twitched inside of her, and her biting need reasserted itself. She began to move as slowly as she could, but her trademark impatience took its toll and soon she was moving almost frantically above him.

A war commenced inside of her. She wanted to retain the control, the absolute power she'd had, but she also wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to touch her badly. And desire always won out in these situations.

"Rick…" She moaned.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He began to thrust his hips upwards in time with her movements, running his hands up and down her sides for a moment before settling on her breasts, squeezing them, his thumbs brushing against her nipples and creating pleasure so sharp it was almost painful. Then he sat up. The angle changed, hitting her spot and she began to cry out, but he pressed his lips to hers and swallowed the sound.

Now that he was able to touch her they both became frantic, touching and squeezing and running hands over each other and groping like they'd never been able to touch each other before, like this was the first time. It was insane, frenzied, lustful, and over far, far too quickly.

They sank back against the cushioned desk, breathing heavily.

After a minute, Rick found his voice.

"I'm never going to be able to write at this desk again."

Kate's entire body shook with her laugh. "I'm not going to be able to look at Lanie's lab coat with a straight face again, so we're even."

He laughed, running a hand through her hair. "Have I told you how absolutely sexy you are?" He murmured, his nose going to its favorite hiding spot in her cherry-scented hair.

"Mmm… not since this morning, no."

She sat up and clambered off of him. "C'mon, we have to clean up before Alexis gets home--doctor's orders."

He chuckled and got up. "Well, since it's doctor's orders and all…" He paused, his playboy leer forming on his face.

Kate frowned. "What are you thinking?" She said, worried.

"Oh, nothing. I was just remembering that next time, I get to be in charge." His voice sent shivers up her spine.

"Uh-huh. We'll see how well that works out for you. Now help me clean up."

He didn't move. He was too busy ogling her bare butt.

"Castle, c'mon. The sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner we can go to bed."

"Promise?"

God, he was such a puppy sometimes.

"Yes, promise."

They had the room cleaned up in under five minutes.


	2. Officer

It was late. Beckett thought it might be around ten but she wasn't sure. Ryan and Esposito had left an hour ago, and everyone else had left a good few hours before that. She was completely alone in the precinct, just trying to finish the damn paperwork.

Ever since the bank robbery, Castle had taken to hanging out while she took care of the paperwork. He didn't do the paperwork himself, of course, but he did sit there, offering witty remarks and comments here or there, but mainly just keeping her company. It helped more than she'd cared to admit for a long time. Just having his presence there made everything ten times better.

But now there was no sign of him. He had gone to surprise Alexis as she finished a volunteer job and take her out on a father-daughter dinner date. Beckett smiled at the thought. What with Alexis' busy schedule and their cases, father and daughter hadn't been getting as much time together as they'd used to. Both of them deserved more time together.

Alas, it didn't make the paperwork any easier.

Beckett finally finished the last of it and put her pen down, exhausted. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. She'd had the worst migraine bugging her for the last twenty minutes, and it showed no sign of abating. The only thing in her mind now was placing the paperwork at the side of her desk (she'd file it in the morning), driving home as fast as the speed laws permitted and collapsing on the couch. Maybe she, Castle and Alexis could finish off the night with a movie. There was a space western she hadn't seen in a few years that she wouldn't mind re-watching…

That is if she wasn't passed out, asleep, by the time they got home.

Lost in her thoughts as she put away her things and cleaned up her desk, Beckett didn't see the figure emerge from the back, having taken the stairs instead of the noisy elevator. Tired and worn out, her normally sharp cop instincts failed to notify her as the person crept closer, amazingly silent.

When Beckett stood, a sudden chill passed through her. It was the chill that told her she wasn't alone. Normally, this would have made her pull out her gun, but this chill was very distinctive. She knew exactly who was in there with her. But what he was doing here, now…

"Detective Beckett."

The tone, sharp and authoritative, was unlike anything she'd ever heard come out of his mouth. Slowly, almost doubting it was him, Beckett turned on her heel.

His proximity to her nearly made her gasp as she found herself an inch away from him, staring into cold, steely blue eyes. His jaw was set, and the look in his eyes bore no argument. Beckett swallowed.

"Castle, what are you…"

"That's Officer to you, Detective," Castle said, his voice commanding. A shiver of heat rushed through her at his tone. Beckett raked her eyes over him. Well, Officer certainly did fit the bill… at least, as far as his outfit went.

Somehow or other, Castle had managed to get a police officer's uniform. In fact, the only thing missing was the thin gold name plate. Beckett hazarded a guess that he'd borrowed it and therefore had to remove the name tag.

Castle had to keep himself from grinning when he saw the look in Beckett's eyes. Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this. He'd have to remember to send Ryan a gift basket or something. The Junior Detective had gotten the uniform from a friend from his days as a beat cop--a friend who just happened to have almost the exact shape measurements as Castle. Yup, a gift basket was definitely in order when he returned the uniform (and discarded nametag) to Ryan.

"Detective, I'm afraid that we're going to have to take you in for questioning regarding a few things."

"Regarding what, exactly?" Beckett demanded. She knew what he was up to, but she wasn't going down without a fight and she certainly wasn't going to give in just because that uniform fit him really, really well and…

"I'm sure you'll find out when we get there," Castle said smoothly. "If you'll just follow me into the interrogation room, we can get this started." His blue eyes glittered and he lowered his voice just a tad. "Don't make me use the handcuffs, Detective."

Beckett clamped down on the tide of arousal that swept through her. Okay, fine, she'd go along with him. After all, she had promised that next time they did this sort of thing that he could be in charge.

Castle gestured for her to walk in front of him, and she did so, leading the way to Interrogation Room #5. She knew he was having her walk in front so that he could get his fill of her swaying ass, but she didn't say anything as it allowed her to choose the interrogation room. Number five was the one that was farthest away from the stairwell and the most soundproof, so they could avoid alerting the security desk downstairs.

Upon entering the room, Castle indicated for her to sit down at the table. Beckett instinctively went to the cop side of the table, but Castle grabbed her arm tightly, firmly leading her to the side of the table facing the two-way mirror. Beckett glanced at it even though she knew there wouldn't be anyone on the other side. At least, she hoped there wasn't anyone. But she trusted Castle, and knew that they were alone.

She trusted Castle… yes, yes she trusted him. With everything from her life to her heart to knowing what groceries to pick up because they all knew she wasn't going to remember to do it. That was why she was letting him do this. That was why she had to participate whole-heartedly. She wanted him to know that she trusted him with this.

Leaning forward in her chair, Beckett offered Castle a generous view of her cleavage. He'd just sat down and his eyes widened almost imperceptivity before he got a hold of himself. He was in charge this time, and he was going to make the most of it. He had a sudden rush of gratitude for whoever made these tables tall enough to hide his lap from her view.

"So Detective…" Castle said, his blue eyes boring into hers. "You've been at this precinct for the past eight years, is that correct?"

Beckett smiled flirtatiously. "That's correct," she said breathily. She hadn't tried to seduce a guy like this since the reckless days after her mother's murder, but she knew she still had it. And Castle was just so easy…

Castle nodded, and then looked down at the piece of paper on the table. Beckett hadn't even noticed it until that moment. When had he put it there? Had he been carrying it with him earlier? She didn't know.

"Now, your record is exemplary, but the past few months have shown a string of suspicious behavior--including unauthorized breaks and trips to various interrogation rooms and the parking garage."

Beckett swallowed. Those were two places they got it on frequently at work.

Castle leaned back, his piercing gaze boring into her. He desperately hoped she wasn't going to pull a  _Basic Instinct_. "Care to explain your actions during those times, Detective?"

A rush of heat swooped through Beckett, and she dropped her eyelids a little, giving them a hooded, seductive look. "Why, Officer Castle… just what are you insinuating I do during those times?"

Castle leered. "It's not about what I think you're doing, Detective. I'm the one asking the questions."

He stood up and came over to her. Beckett stared up at him defiantly. "You know…" He said, his voice low but still holding that authoritative, in-charge tone. "You're rather uncooperative for someone in your position, Detective. Do you have any idea how serious the charges against you are?"

Beckett folded her arms and looked up at him, her eyes challenging him. "Why don't you show me?" She asked. She leaned back and lifted her leg, drawing her foot up his leg and back down, gazing at him seductively. "Just how much trouble am I in, Officer?"

Faster than she expected, Castle moved. She hadn't known the man could move that quickly. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, out of the chair, forcing her--almost slamming her--against the wall. He forced his knee in between her legs and leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. He still gripped her arm firmly, holding it up by her head, while his shoulder pinned her other arm against the wall.

Beckett's pupils were alarmingly dilated, her chest heaving. Castle's eyes flicked downwards of their own accord, taking in her heaving breasts and flushed skin, before locking eyes with her again.

"I think I'm going to have to use more intense interrogation methods, Detective," he growled.

"Do your worst," Beckett whispered.

Castle pressed his knee against her core, rocking it gently. Beckett bit her lip, willing herself not to cry out. A fresh gush of wetness soaked her underwear, and she prayed he wouldn't be able to feel it through her pants.

He leaned in, his breath heating up her skin. His lips ran over her cheek, her neck, her forehead, her lips, her ear… the promise of touch more than the actual thing. He released her arms but kept her pressed against the wall, his knee at her crotch ensuring that she wouldn't move because of the tension against her core. Castle slowly moved his hands, running them up her thighs and her torso, patting her down in way that would have gotten him written up if she was an actual suspect and he an actual officer.

"What do you expect to get out of me from all this?" Beckett asked, her voice nearly cracking from sexual tension.

"A confession, of course," Castle replied. He slipped his hands under her shirt and smoothed them over her stomach before skimming the underside of her breasts.

"And what am I supposed to be confessing?" She whispered.

Castle brought his face so that they were nose to nose, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "To fraternizing with a coworker, one Mr. Richard Castle, during work hours."

Beckett inched her head to the left, then the right, the slightest of shakes. "Never."

He attacked her mouth. His tongue was down her throat, yanking moans and whimpers out of her. She pressed her hands against the wall, desperately wanting to touch him but remembering that she had to wait for permission. He'd been good and patient when she'd been in charge, so she had to do the same now. But it was so hard, with him slowly rocking his knee against her clit, his mouth sealing over hers while his hands unhooked her bra under her shirt and began to swipe at her nipples. He was taking what he wanted from her, leaving her breathless and needy and offering no apology. He was utterly in control.

Waiting until the last second, waiting until the last drop of oxygen had been wrung out of their systems, he finally pulled back. Both of them were breathing heavily, two pairs of desire filled eyes staring into each other, black hole into black hole.

Castle repeated his previous question. "Do you confess to engaging in sexual activities with your partner during work hours?"

The ironic thing in all of this was that he knew the answer. He knew the answer better than anyone. He was the partner she was engaging in sexual activities with, for crying out loud.

Beckett looked up at him, the choice clearly laid out in front of her. There were two paths she could take here, and both would end the same way. The question was how much control was she willing to give up here? How much was she going to let him take?

He almost barked the question this time, and if it weren't for the soft underlying tone, the thread of love running through it, Beckett would have been honestly concerned for her safety. But it was there. It would always be there.

"How do you plead?" He asked--no, demanded.

She looked him square in the eyes, a shot of defiant hazel peeking through the dilated dark of her pupils for the barest moment.

"Guilty."

Castle blinked. He honestly hadn't expected her to give in. When this whole thing had played out in his head (and it had played out many, many times…), she'd always refused to answer, confess, or plead to anything. Now she was confessing and pleading guilty, accepting whatever punishment he'd dole out.

His composure cracked for a moment, allowing the sweet, tender, playful Rick to shine through in his eyes. It was only for a second, but Beckett read the words etched in his eyes.

_I love you._

Then he was kissing her again, possessive and commanding, his hands making fast work of her shirt, bra, and pants. One hand came up, snatching her small wrists in his large hand, holding them hostage over her head. Three seconds later and his pants followed hers to the floor. He wasn't rocking his knee against her anymore--he didn't have to. Beckett was wearing her heels, putting her at just the right height for his erection to press against the juncture of her thighs, and she was milking the position for all it was worth, grinding against him shamelessly. What she couldn't do with her hands, she did with her mouth, kissing and sucking at his skin while he left red bite marks and tiny bruises in a rough trail down her neck.

"What's my sentence?" She managed to gasp out.

"I'll let you figure that one out, Detective." His voice was as desperate and panting as hers now, all control gone as he pressed himself against her.

They locked eyes yet again, never breaking contact as he slowly slid into her. The feeling of utter ownership, of being claimed and marked and taken as his, filled her as surely as he did physically. It didn't feel at all like she thought it would. It felt good. It felt right.

As he started to move, pumping into her, she realized why. She'd given herself to him long before he'd taken anything. She'd offered herself up, told him to take her, and only when that permission was given had he accepted it. He hadn't taken anything he didn't already own.

So hard, so fast, and so rough like it hadn't been in years. Castle tried to remember the last time it had been like this for him, and he vaguely recalled his college years. Yeah, somewhere in that time frame.

Beckett remembered distinctly the last time she'd been so heavily  _fucked_  against a wall. Age twenty, filthy alleyway, music wafting up from the cheap nightclub, and a half-wasted stranger. That had been sloppy and utterly emotionless--just what she'd been looking for during that dark year of flirting with the edge.

This was infinitely better.

For how quick their rhythm was, it took them both a few minutes. They were sinking, slowly, yet rising, falling upwards, the feeling of a slow immersion mixing with a weightless euphoria making a concoction so intoxicating, so painfully pleasurable, that they could taste it on their tongues.

Faster, faster, harder, so hard, almost too fast but not fast enough, and the vague, distant thought that someone was going to have severe burns from the wall in the morning…

Swooping downwards, like the big dip on a rollercoaster but falling from a much greater height, and the whooshing feeling wasn't just in their stomachs, it was in every fiber of their being, every skin cell and tiny vain alive and pulsing with it. It was the highest, most primal adrenaline rush of all.

Beckett blinked. The tiny stars dancing in front of her eyes slowly faded, like they do before the sun's rise. Castle's forehead was pressed against the wall, sweat slowly sliding down his face and body, his body shaking slightly.

He raised his head slowly, his eyes searching her face for any sign of discomfort, any tiny hint, no matter how small, that she hadn't enjoyed this.

She smiled at him.

"Remind me to let you take charge more often," she whispered.

Castle's face lit up, and she laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you," he whispered, letting her slide off of him and plant her feet on the ground again, wrapping her up in his arms.

"I know." She chuckled at his expression. "I love you, too."

They disengaged, Castle helping her with her clothes and pulling up the pants of the uniform. "A part of me can't believe we just fucked against the wall," he said, marveling.

There really wasn't another word for it. They had  _fucked_. And yet, they'd made love at the same time. Funny how things worked out like that.

Beckett eyed the uniform. "As much as I like that on you," she said, "We'll have to dry clean that thing before we return it to whomever you borrowed it from."

"A friend of Ryan's, and yeah, I have to reattach the nameplate, anyway," Castle said, finishing adjusting his clothing. Seeing that Beckett was fully clothed, he held out his hand to her. She slipped hers into his, wrapping her thin, nimble fingers around his large ones, squeezing tightly. It wasn't a cling, just an affirmation.

"C'mon, Castle. Let's go home."

He tugged on her arm, and she stumbled a little as she took a step. He frowned, and she gave him a reassuring wink. "Just a little wobbly. That was intense."

"Well then," Castle responded, picking her up so that she was riding him piggy-back style. "Your chariot awaits you."

Beckett laughed. "Onward, then!"

They laughed the entire way to the elevator.


	3. Maid

Beckett stretched on her tiptoes, trying to reach the elusive top shelf of the bookcase. She had never cared much about keeping things neat back when she'd had her apartment--it just hadn't been on her list of priorities. Now that she lived with the Castle-Rodgers clan, however, she found that she honestly cared about, and even enjoyed, keeping things clean and neat.

It was no secret that Beckett was a little neurotic when it came to keeping things neat. Anyone who'd tried to move something on her desk could testify to that (this list included Ryan, Esposito, Castle, Karpowski, two unfortunate rookies from Narcotics, and Natalie Rhodes). It gave her a feeling of deep satisfaction knowing that everything was clean and in its place. It gave her a refreshed feeling.

Hence, her current position teetering on top of a stool as she strove to reach the top shelf of Castle's bookshelf in his office.

Grumbling and cursing under her breath, Beckett got down from the stool, glaring with her hands on her hips at the annoyingly high set of shelves. At least Castle wasn't there to witness her defeat. He was stuck in meetings with Paula and Gina all day.

Beckett pitied him. He was going to be exhausted when he got home after being stuck with those two harpies. Well, Gina wasn't that bad… oh, wait--she'd been married to Castle.

Yup, she was a genuine Greek harpy.

Hmm… Rick Castle in need of some rest and recreation… some cleaning that needed to be done…

A smile worthy of any femme fatale curved Beckett's lips. Things were about to get a lot dirtier around here.

* * *

 

Castle slammed the door shut and leaned back against it like he was trying to prevent rabid wolves from breaking in. He deeply regretted whatever period of insanity that had allowed him to schedule a meeting with both Paula and Gina at the same time.

Seeing his loft sweet loft was making him feel better already, and he grinned when he remembered that Beckett wasn't on call that night. He hurried to put his things away in his office, opening the door with one hand while his other held his bag with his laptop in it.

Both the bag and his jaw dropped when he saw what was going on inside.

The luscious round ass of one Detective Kate Beckett was sticking up, barely covered by a black thong and something frilly as she cleaned under his desk with a hand-held mini vacuum.

Castle tried to remember the last time he'd seen Beckett wear a skirt or dress. That would be his last book signing, when she'd been feeling a little possessive and wanted to remind all his female fans that he was decidedly taken. And that had been…

Wow. Four months ago.

For the next few seconds he couldn't do anything other than stare, but then Beckett stood up and turned.

It was not a maid outfit. First of all, Beckett did not have one, and second of all, she would not wear one even if you'd paid her. But she did have a short black shirt and a short-sleeved white blouse, and she did have a wicked pair of black heels. She'd opened the blouse's top buttons and done  _something_  else with it so that her breasts were pushed up and peeking out from the top, and the skirt was really too short to be legal.

Upon seeing Castle's face, it took a great deal of self-control not to burst into laughter. He was just so easy.

Stamping down that thought and focusing on the task at hand, Beckett adopted an apologetic demeanor… and a (very slight) foreign accent. It wasn't much to be overdone, but just enough to flirt with the stereotype. And Beckett loved twisting the stereotype (when she wasn't blowing it away).

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Castle! I had no idea you would be home so early!"

Castle's fried circuits began to connect once again and things slowly clicked into place. His writer brain, so adept as spinning stories and case theories, quickly scrolled through the facts and came up with a conclusion, just like he was looking at a case on the murder board. Beckett had mentioned that morning that she would be cleaning the loft that day. She knew he had a joint meeting with Paula and Gina. She also knew that would leave him exhausted. Furthermore, they both knew that Alexis, between her extra-credit schoolwork, internships, and volunteer projects, would be out of the house until late. Martha was a wild card that they would have to take a chance on.

Dirty house + Beckett alone all day + stressed Castle equaled…

"Mr. Castle?"

He blinked, focusing on Beckett, who was looking at him concernedly. She didn't break character, however. "Mr. Castle? Forgive my asking, sir, but are you all right?"

Another blink, and then he gathered himself. "I'm fine, thank you for asking, Kate." He surveyed the room. "How far along in here are you?"

In truth, Beckett had cleaned the entire house already while waiting for him and only dashed to the office when she heard the key turning in the lock, but she played along. It was no skin off her back if she wiped down the shelves again.

"I am about halfway finished, sir. Would you like me to move to another room while you work?" She asked demurely enough, but her eyes sparkled devilishly.

Castle shook his head empathetically. "No, no, you can finish in here first."

"Thank you." Beckett couldn't keep the sly note out of her tone entirely.

She turned quickly on her heel, not giving him a chance to think about it, and surveyed the bookshelves and window thoughtfully. After a moment of deep contemplation, she turned back to him.

"Is there any particular thing or area you'd like for me to clean first?" She asked sweetly.

He thought for a moment, and then nodded to the top shelves of the bookshelf. "If you could reach up there, I'm sure there's loads of dust."

Beckett would have glared at him (those damn shelves again!) but didn't for the sake of their game. She had a pretty good idea as to why he'd asked her to clean that, anyway.

Once on top of the stool and reaching for the top shelf, Castle had the greatest view of her long, smooth legs.

He took a moment to admire them, and shivered as the memory came, unbidden, of the last time they'd wrapped around him, keeping him pinned to her. His blood began to rush through his system. That skimpy skirt of hers was leaving little to his (vivid) imagination. He was seriously considering stepping forward and running his hands up those creamy, mile-long pieces of…

That was when Beckett decided to up the ante.

Detective Kate Beckett was well schooled in self-defense. She had taken police training as well as her own fight classes on the side. One of the first things that any martial arts or fighting discipline will teach you is how to properly fall. Should you take a hit or lose your balance, you need to know how to fall so that you sustain the least amount of damage to your body and can get up (or return the blow) as quickly as possible.

In other words, Beckett knew how to fall off of a stool, make it look like an accident, and land squarely on top of Castle. Which is exactly what she did.

They went tumbling to the floor, ending up with Castle sprawled on his back with Beckett on top of him, her hands on his shoulders and his leg wedged between hers, so that she was straddling his thigh.

For a moment, they lay there, breathing heavily. Neither of them failed to notice the other's dilated pupils and shortened, shallow breath.

Slowly, Beckett leaned forward, sliding her hands up until they were planted on either side of his head, raising herself up just a little. She dipped her head, bringing her lips within a few inches of his ear, just enough so that her warm breath could curl along his skin and make him hold back a shiver.

"I'm awfully sorry about that, Mr. Castle." Her voice was Marilyn-Monroe breathy. "I hope I'm not crossing any… boundaries…"

His hands reached up instinctively, gripping her right where her thighs met her delicious ass, keeping her pinned against him. There were no less than five moves Beckett could have pulled to slip out of his grip (not counting the seduction moves) but she let him. She always let him.

"No." He almost growled the word, before remembering himself. "I mean, this is fine. I'm sure you could get a lot done from here."

She chuckled, unable to help herself. "I think I'd be getting a lot more  _dirty_  from here then I'd get  _clean_ …" She whispered, arching an eyebrow in a classic Beckett look.

Castle pushed her hips down while simultaneously pressing his thigh up into her core, grinding her against it. Beckett gasped and her head fell forward, putting her ear right next to his lips.

"And from now on, it's Rick, got it?" He said, grinding her into his leg again.

Beckett bit her lip to hide the moan that threatened to spill out. How did he manage to turn the tables on her this quickly? She needed to get some control back.

Slipping a hand down, Beckett palmed him through his slacks, slowly undoing his belt and pants. "Well, Rick," she said, taking him into her hand and running her fingers up and down the shaft slowly, "There is something that needs a little work…"

He grunted, trying to hold back as she stroked him, reciting baseball stats in his head to prevent himself from bucking into her hand. Kate raised herself up, lowering her head without breaking eye contact. The sultry look she was sending him was almost unbearable with its smoldering heat. Her tongue darted out, licking at the pre-cum already gathering at the head.

"God, Kate," Rick spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm pretty sure this is crossing a few professional boundaries…"

"Well, I am in the service industry." Kate winked.

Before he could say anything more, she lowered her moist lips, slowly drawing him into her mouth and taking one long suck, running her lips up and down his shaft with deliberate slowness. She was torturing him, and she was enjoying every second of it.

Everything Kate Beckett set out to do, she set out to be the best at. Whether it was a motorcyclist, a cop, or a lover, she had to be the top of the class. And the teacher's pet, if there was a teacher involved (her boxing instructor still raved about her). While no teacher was a part of this activity, or even, really, a class, Kate was definitely a master at this.

She began to deep-throat him, and Rick had to cling to the rug to keep himself from bucking up into her and hurting her. He squeezed his eyes shut, baseball stats no longer doing it for him because he couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything other than her and the sinful sensations she was causing him to feel.

One final draw up his shaft, her teeth scraping just slightly, and he gave in. He spurted out, and Kate eagerly drank, licking him like a lollipop--only this was strictly adult candy. When she was finished, she grinned up at him, looking exactly like the cat that ate the canary.

"A good maid always cleans up after herself," she whispered just before capturing his lips with hers.

Rick could taste his own saltiness on her tongue, just a hint of it, along with the sweet almost-cherry taste that was purely Kate. His tongue slid over hers, delving into her, sucking up every bit of her that he could possibly taste, writing words on the roof of her mouth.

When their lungs started running on empty, Kate pulled back. The soft sucking sound as she broke the suction sent a new shiver of heat running through her, and she remembered just how wet she was. She stood up, looking down at him, and Rick knew right then that she would not be allowed to wear either that skirt or that blouse in public again for fear he wouldn't be able to control his reaction.

He jumped to his feet, determined to even the playing field. "You're looking rather disheveled. That's a rather unfitting state for your work attire, don't you think?"

Kate looked down at her rumpled skirt and blouse, then back up at him. She smiled. "Why don't you help me clean up, then?"

Oh yes, why didn't he.

Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bedroom--and the master bathroom. Kate looked around as if in wonderment, like she had never seen this part of the house before.

"It's very nice," she commented. The thought struck Rick that she really should have become an actress. Natalie Rhodes had nothing on Kate's pitch-perfect performance.

Meanwhile, Kate was still talking. "I do see something that could use a woman's touch, though."

Ironic, considering half of the things in the room were hers.

"What's that?" Rick asked as he opened the bathroom door.

"You." Kate smirked.

He nearly choked, and cleared his throat. "I was thinking the bathroom could use a little…"

Kate pinned him to the wall, one leg slowly sliding up his to wrap around his waist. "I was thinking the shower," she said, nodding seriously. She almost sounded like she was deciding on what book to borrow at the library or what dress to wear to a party.

Stepping away from him, Kate reached behind her and turned on the shower, blasting hot water and nearly knocking over the cherry-scented lotion resting on the tub's edge. Then she slid her fingers down her body, tugging the blouse out from underneath the skirt and pulling it up and over her head, not even bothering with the buttons. Her skirt was next, pushed off of her butt and slid down her thighs to pool at her feet. She was smiling seductively now, and reached up to take off her bra.

Rick came forward and stopped her, gripping her wrists. "Don't you dare."

He ran his fingers up her arms and then down her back, wrapping them around her and pulling her to him as he undid her bra with a practiced flick of the wrist, before pulling the straps down her arms, leaning back just enough to give them the room to drop it on the floor.

"You know I like to do that myself," he whispered, reaching down to pull off her underwear.

She could only hum as she began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled his pants down, stepping out of his shoes.

"We didn't really get to into it this time," he said, stepping into the shower and pulling her with him.

"Then we'll just have to go all out next time," Kate declared, allowing him to push her against the wall. "And I did need a shower after all the cleaning I did today."

"I probably need one after dealing with Paula and Gina all day," Rick mumbled, and then he was kissing her, savoring every sensation she gave him, and there wasn't time for talking. He was surrounded by heat. Heat from the water, the heat of her slick, wet skin, heat from her warm mouth, heat from her hands as she clung to him, and not least of all heat from inside of him, bathing his body in it before coming into one concentrated point, flowing out of him and into her with a suddenness and force he'd never experienced before her. Even now, months into a sexually active relationship, the things she could do to him amazed and humbled him.

He would never, ever have enough of her. He wanted her, needed her, and craved her, always.

Kate couldn't stop the gasps and squeaking moans that burst out of her as she let him pound her into the wall of the shower. When she'd done this before, with others, it had always felt dirty. She felt like she was doing something wrong, something dangerous, and it filled her with a deadly thrill. But now, she felt almost like she was cleansed. With Rick, there was love there, both her prison and her salvation, and it tinged everything that she did. It made her very soul tremble with some kind of primeval song, crying out with joy the way her body cried out with pleasure. With him, she felt clean--more than clean. She felt whole.

* * *

"DAD!"

The annoyed cry, one perfected by legions of teenage girls over the centuries, rang through the loft. Beckett looked up from the salad she was preparing for dinner, staring at the ceiling before glancing at Castle. Simultaneously, they dropped what they were doing and bolted for the stairs, reaching Alexis' bathroom in four seconds flat.

A dripping Alexis, clad in a large, fluffy white towel, stood in the bathroom, glaring like a cat that had been thrown into a river.

"Pumpkin, are you okay?"

"Lex, what's wrong?"

Alexis gave an involuntary shiver. "Could someone explain to me just what happened to all the warm water in this apartment?" She demanded. "This is the third shower I've had this week where the water ran cold halfway through!"

Recalling their hour-long tryst in the master bath earlier that day, both Castle and Beckett tried to look as innocent as possible.

"I'm sure it's just a problem with maintenance, Pumpkin," Castle assured his daughter. "I'll call and have them take care of it."

Beckett nodded in agreement, and then both beat a hasty retreat from the bathroom. From the look on Alexis' face, she was not convinced.

Once safely back downstairs, Castle sidled up to Beckett and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Do you think we'll have to start setting a timer?"

Beckett proceeded to choke on the water she was drinking.


	4. Strangers

He sat in the bar, turning the empty whiskey glass over in his hand. He'd nursed the glass for the good part of an hour and he wasn't sure if he wanted another one or not. Nothing said "lonely" like a man slowly nursing shot after shot by himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman slip onto a barstool, signaling for the bartender. He was surprised to see that she didn't order a fruity little drink or even a Kailua and cream but something that looked suspiciously like a vodka mix. The woman smiled her thanks.

Now, a woman like that should never have to pay for her own drink. He took her in, the very sight of her doing more for him than the good, strong whiskey he'd just consumed.

She had long, creamy golden legs, her feet held prisoner by a pair of wicked red heels. She wore a deep, dark red dress, simple but classy--not too dressy for her current location, but still elegant. Her dark amber locks were pulled back in a loose, curling ponytail, keeping it out of her face but allowing the natural curls to snake around her neck and down her chest. He couldn't help but follow the line of her neck, the curve of her breast, drinking in her figure with his eyes.

The woman looked around the room with a mixture of boredom and apprehension. Her eyes were almost gleaming emeralds in the half-dark, reflecting the light like a cat. She looked exactly how he felt.

Reaching a decision, he stood up and made his way towards her, sitting himself down on the barstool next to her. He flagged the bartender, while the woman looked at him. One thin, perfect eyebrow arched as he turned to face her.

"What's a beautiful woman like you, doing alone on a Friday night?" He asked. He saw she was opening her mouth to say something, so he held up a hand. "I'm not trying a pick up line, I'm honestly asking."

"That would be a first." The woman smirked. She accepted the drink the bartender got her, though. She gazed at him through her lashes as she sipped. "So, why are you asking?"

"Curiosity?" He hazarded.

The woman shook her head.

"Well, I'd tell you I'm a New York Times bestselling author doing research, but that would just sound like bragging. Or another pick up line."

She tugged her plump bottom lip between her teeth, biting gently as she tried to hide her smile. "And I'd tell you I'm a single woman looking for someone to show me a good time, but that would just sound desperate."

He shook his head. "Single? I don't believe it."

Eyebrows shouldn't be able to physically raise that high, but the woman managed. "What about you? A classy, handsome man like you all alone? Or did some harpy snap you up?"

"They tried to." He winked.

She smiled, and then looked down at his outstretched hand. She rolled her eyes and slipped her hand into his. Her hand was small and cool to the touch, the skin surprisingly smooth. His hand was large and the pads were a little rough, but warm and strong.

He dropped her hand, and she immediately missed the warmth it had sent crawling up her arm. She crossed her legs, treating him to another tempting smile.

"So," he said, leaning forward. "You're single? How did that happen?"

"My last boyfriend was exactly the most… attentive of people."

"What a pity." He leaned forward a little--not too much, just enough to suggest intimacy. "It's a sad thing that so many men today don't appreciate their partner."

She smiled appreciatively at the word. His voice lowered a few notes, but he continued to speak conversationally.

"A woman should be appreciated for the beautiful thing that she is. Her skin should be kissed and suckled. Her curves should know what it's like to be gripped with possession. Her lips should be caressed and crushed by a lover's mouth."

He gently touched her, just with his fingertips, on her knee, slowly drawing them up her thigh. Although there was the material of the dress in between his fingers and her skin and he wasn't even really touching her that much, tingles began to spread until they engulfed her entire body. She was held there, frozen, her lips parted slightly as his words wrapped around her, keeping her in his thrall with his voice and the sinful things he was saying.

"Her hair…" He reached up and gently took a piece of it, feeling it between his thumb and fingers before letting it slide slowly through his hand. "A woman's crown and glory." His voice was a hoarse whisper now, his throat tight.

She stood up abruptly, annoyed at the devilish gleam in his eyes. Her skin was flushed, her breathing was shallow and damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He stood up as well, and she realized just how tall he was, towering over her, his darkly handsome face filling her vision.

"I think I need to rest."

It wasn't supposed to be an invitation… or was it? Her brain was a little addled.

Gently putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her, he steered her away from the bar exit, towards the back. There was a separate room, down a few steps, that held a couple pool tables as well as two doors, one on either side of the room. The one on the left held a storage closet and a few other things (including but not limited to rats, dark tunnels, and possible wine storage rooms), but it was the one on the right they were headed towards.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing," she explained, her voice weaker than she wanted it to be.

"Never said you did."

"I'm just…"

He opened the door to an office, and sat her down in a dark green couch along the wall. "You can relax here," he said. He went over to one of the shelves, pulling down a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

"You seem very prepared for this kind of situation. Does this happen often?"

"Never happened before," he said earnestly, handing her a half-full glass. She took it but didn't drink, staring at him over the rim.

"So I'm the first?" The teasing note never left her voice--she was toying with him.

He sat down next to her. "Why?" She asked.

"Because you're…" He stared at her for a moment, and then grinned slowly. "You're extraordinary."

She had to look away or she ran the risk of getting lost in the blue depths of his eyes. "Should I feel honored?"

There was a smile playing at the corners of her lips, and he had to swallow hard. He leaned in. "I think I'm the one who should feel honored here."

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

She downed her scotch, then set down the empty glass with a thump. "I think you should put your money where your mouth is." And she closed the distance between them.

The kiss was soft, extremely soft, his lips warm against hers. His hand reached up to gently cup her cheek, angling her head. He opened his mouth, his tongue swiping against her lips, asking for entrance. She gave it to him, allowing their tongues to slide against each other, tasting the whiskey and something deeper, a full, darkly sweet taste that was his alone. He groaned, moving his hand up to slip it through her hair, gently gripping the locks at the back of her head. She rose up a little, shifting so that she was kneeling above him, tiny sounds of pleasure emitting from the back of her throat.

They slid, smoothly and slowly, off of the couch and onto the floor. He was on top of her somehow, and their clothes had managed to melt off of them in the way they often do when your mind is occupied with other (more enjoyable) tasks.

He flipped them, getting on top so that he could better run his hands over her silky skin. He reveled in every mark, every freckle, every piece of her. It amazed him how she could be so perfect. Even her flaws just made her more perfect. He kissed her scars reverently--there was the burn mark on her knee from a dropped frying pan, the thin surgical scars from an archery accident, and not least of all, the sniper scar between her breasts.

She arched beneath him, encouraging him to move faster. Her nails raked against his back, and she was kissing his neck with an almost feral hunger. He slowly made his way upward, pressing openmouthed kisses and little nips to her skin, reveling in her salty-sweet taste. She gripped his shoulders, yanking him up and claiming his mouth, dominating him with her tongue. Looping one leg around his waist, she pressed him up against her entrance, demanding that he finish what he started.

More than ready to comply, he broke the kiss, lifting his head up so that he could watch her face. He entered her, sucking in a breath at her expression. Her mouth fell open in a gasp, her pupils swallowing the rest of her eye to glitter like gleaming black pearls, her skin becoming even more flushed than before. She tilted her head back, relaxing, her body shifting to accommodate him.

While they did wait a minute before moving, once they began it was frenzied. A part of her was very much aware that they were doing this on the floor of a bar, in what appeared to be someone's office, and they weren't even using a condom and she hadn't felt this reckless since she was nineteen and oh God, the danger, the wrongness of it, the sheer naughty pleasure, was giving this tryst an edge that she hadn't felt in forever.

He moved almost erratically, the feel of her around him, clinging to him, engulfing him in every sense just stripping him of any vestiges of self-control. He pounded into her, and were he in his right mind he would have felt guilty but she was meeting him for every thrust, mirroring his movements, and every time he tried to slow down she would clench around him, gasping out some version of "don't you dare." It felt so wrong, so dirty, and so… fucking…  _good_.

They had to be quiet, so when she felt herself beginning to slip, she pressed herself against him, crushing herself to him, and kissed him. He had control this time, his tongue delving in and drawing moans out of her like a composer coaxing music out of nothing.

She fluttered around him, and then she slipped completely, her hold on sanity and control vanishing as she plummeted, and her entire body shook with the force of it. She tightened around him, her channel rippling, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He went rigid, pouring everything he had into her as she continued to fall, kissing him like it was the only way to keep her anchored to this plane of existence.

Finally, they spent themselves, collapsing in a sated heap. She glanced up the few stairs that led from the office to the bar, and then rolled over so that she was lying on top of him, her arms folded on his chest.

"What's that smile for?" He asked, perplexed.

"We didn't lock the office door," she said, grinning wickedly.

"I'm sure the owner won't mind," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Yes, but whatever poor bartender that comes in here next probably would."

"Mmm." He didn't appear to care, as he was far too busy running his fingers through her hair. God, he loved her hair.

"So I was thinking…" She said slowly, noticing how he was playing with her locks, "That we could use a place to clean up. Why don't I show you my place?"

"Only if you let me wash this gorgeous hair of yours."

She closed her eyes, imagining them in the bath. She shivered, hot chills dancing across her nerves. "I'll consider it."

They stood up, carefully donning their clothing, fixing their hair as best they could, before heading back to the bar. As they walked through the crowd, he kept his hand resting lightly on her hip. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her entire body hot, and it was certainly enough to show the various men stealing glances at her that she was taken.

"Mr. Castle?"

They had almost reached the door when the senior bartender flagged him down. "Are you going to be back tonight, or do you want me to lock up?"

Castle glanced over at Beckett. She was looking at him like she wanted to eat him alive… and like she was daring him to leave her presence again that night.

"No, I trust you to lock it up," he replied, talking to the bartender but smiling at Beckett.

Without further ado, they exited the Old Haunt.


	5. Spies

The man looked around the hotel lobby, waiting patiently. His contact wasn't set to appear for another five minutes, but he liked to be aware of his surroundings. The place chosen for the rendezvous was certainly on the high end of the budget. No pay-by-the-hour motels for his contact, whoever they were. This hotel was five-star and one of the most well known in New York. This meant more potential witnesses, of course, but he was confident in their ability to keep from being caught. He was an old pro at this, and his boss had assured him that his contact was one of the best.

When he caught sight of her, he immediately wished he got assignments like this more often.

Legs were the first things that he saw. Long legs, striding forward with confidence, the skirt she was wearing conservative in cut but wonderfully short, offering a glimpse of glorious thighs.

The rest of her outfit, with its slinky long-sleeved top, was as deceptively conservative as the rest of her. It looked business-dressy, but upon closer examination, the top was just a little too sheer, the skirt's waist just a little too pinched, the heels just a little too high--enough to suggest the wild that lay underneath, but only to someone who was really looking.

And oh, was he looking.

She saw him, sitting there with a newspaper open, but he wasn't looking at the pages. His gaze rested firmly on her. If he didn't stop staring they were going to be found out. What was he, an amateur? She sauntered over to him, her eyes raking over his form. He was older than she was, starting to soften around the edges, but still nice and firm. Mmm… and he had a nice chest and shoulders, if what she could make out under his dress shirt was anything to go by.

She stopped just short of his chair, gazing around the lobby floor in confusion and frustration. She turned to him, indicating her ear.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but you didn't happen to see a blue earring anywhere around here, did you?"

He folded up the newspaper, placing it back on the lobby table that was scattered with tourist pamphlets and magazines. "As a matter of fact, I have."

So far, so good. The next words she spoke were carefully rehearsed. "It's my mother's--she used to wear them all the time."

"I'm afraid I put it in the pocket of my other pair of pants. It's up in my hotel room."

Those were the key phrases. They were good to go.

He stood up, and she realized just how tall he was. Even in her heels he was still about an inch or so taller than she. "Why don't I take you upstairs and I can give you the package?"

"I'd appreciate that. I'll be sure to compensate you."

He escorted her to the elevator, every inch a gentleman about it. Now all they had to do was exchange the package and the dough and they'd go their separate ways. Easy, simple, and nothing they hadn't done, with different agents in different locations, a dozen times before.

Only this time was a little different. As they got into the elevator, he looked at her, his unashamed admiration of her body making heat start to course through her.

"You got a name?" He asked.

"My friends call me Jo," she replied, keeping her gaze steadily on the closed doors.

"What do your enemies call you?"

She turned to him, smiling like a cat at a sparrow. "Usually 'mercy'," she said, her eyes glinting.

That had to be the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"And what do they call you, Handsome?" She asked.

"Ed." He shrugged.

"Not much of a name."

"It's an everyday name. Easy to hear, easy to forget, and easy for a hundred other men to have."

She smirked. "I like it."

The elevator came to a stop and opened. They stepped out, with him leading the way towards his room.

"So how do you usually do these exchanges?" He asked.

"It depends. If they try to cross me, I kill them. If they're hot, I sleep with them. Otherwise, it's just business as usual." She peeked up at him coyly through her lashes.

He swallowed. "Well I know I'm not the first one, so let's hope I'm the second, huh?"

She hummed.

He opened the door and she stepped in ahead of him.

The minute her back was to him, he grabbed her arms, twirling her and pinning her against the wall, her arms anchored over her head while his body crushed her against the unyielding cement.

"You're not my contact," he growled, his face so close to hers that their noses were brushing.

Her chest heaved, distracting him, and she gave a breathy little laugh. "What gave it away?" She asked. Upon being found out, her careful American accent fell away, her voice becoming the most throaty, delicious Russian he had ever heard.

"The code word was ring, not earring."

She rolled her eyes. "Of all the things…" She raised her head a little, making it so that their foreheads were touching and they could look into each other's eyes without doing weird neck acrobatics.

"So what are you planning to do with me?"

"What was it you said about people that crossed you?" He mused, pretending to think.

She rocked her pelvis against his, pushing her chest up towards his face and angling her head closer. "It doesn't have to end like that, you know."

"What do you propose, then? Because I'll be honest here, I don't much like the idea of messing up a pretty face like yours," he said calmly, his voice failing to betray just how turned on he was.

"A deal," she whispered, brushing her lips against his. "You give me the package and I pay you, as arranged. Maybe the package ends up in different hands than it was intended, but that's not something anyone will know. We make use of that plush king-sized bed you have in here, and we part ways with no one the wiser."

He thought about that for a moment. She strained a little against his hands, not really trying to break free but just testing his hold on her. After a moment he shifted his grip, keeping her two wrists firmly in one hand so that he could run the other up her curves. Her eyes slid closed involuntarily, the feel of him touching her electrifying.

"I appreciate the offer," he said. "But I prefer to take what I want."

His mouth covered hers completely, stifling any words or exclamations she might have begun to voice. His free hand slid down, popping open the buttons on her top so that he could run his fingers over her bare skin. He adored how she jumped a little when he skimmed her ribs. Their mouths continued to nip and kiss, tongues delving in again and again as his nimble fingers made short work of her skirt, pushing it over her hips and letting it fall to the ground.

The growl he gave when he discovered she wasn't wearing underwear was nothing short of animalistic. She gave a dark chuckle.

"A girl should always come prepared," she whispered, capturing his lips again.

His fingers skimmed her folds, making her twitch and moan. He then brought this hand back up again, palming her breasts, tweaking her nipples and grinding into her a little. She made the most addicting sound in the back of her throat, a kind of muffled mewl, struggling not to grind against him. He had her hands in a lock and she was half-naked but she didn't even care--the things he were doing to her were so good, and made her so ready… it had only been, what, a minute and she was aching and swollen for him. Every other man, it took at least a good ten minutes of foreplay. Him? A minute. It took a damn minute.

She made a mental note never to tell him that.

His one free hand was having a bit of a problem undoing his slacks, so he reluctantly let go of her wrists so that he could use both hands. He briefly considered fingering her, especially as he had no way to predict what she'd do once her hands were free, but the raw need in him overwhelmed any gentlemanly thoughts of "ladies first." Besides, she was far too distracted by their kiss to even register that he'd let go.

When she felt both hands on her hips, lifting her up and positioning her, her arms instinctively flew around him, her hands digging into his back and hair. He slid into her, making her bite his lip as they kissed. They both stopped, foreheads touching, breathing together as they allowed the feeling of utter possession to surround them, settle into their skin, to claim them.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead.

She did. Their gazes locked, her eyes boring into his, daring him to make her lose control. He thrust up into her, his blue eyes accepting every challenge, seeing her and raising the stakes, daring her to look away. His thrusts became erratic, their hips slamming together, her body trembling and slamming against the wall a little. It wasn't enough to hurt, but enough to alert any next-door neighbors as to what they were doing.

Their eyes never wavered. He pounded into her, her hips arching, but somehow they managed to keep their gazes locked. Slowly, her body began to crumble. Her very bones trembled as she fell apart, her eyes finally closing as she helplessly flung her head back. The glorious sight of her, his goddess, falling apart around him, sent him flying over the edge, and he pressed himself fully against her, nearly crushing her against the wall as he sought some kind of support to keep his jelly legs from sending him to the floor.

Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes, smiling tenderly at him. His eyes were still closed, his face slack with pleasure, his hair mussed beyond repair. Feeling her gaze upon him, he opened his eyes, looking into hers. This was the one time she was taller than he was, and while she never said anything, he knew that she enjoyed it.

He slipped his hands down, one under her butt and the other around her waist, never breaking eye contact as he carried her across the room, laying her down on the massive bed. She smiled sweetly at him… and then flipped him, pinning him under her.

"My turn," she whispered. It amazed him that she held that Russian accent through the whole thing. He grinned. She was a book he would never finish reading, and he loved it.

She kissed him, forcing his mouth open and slipping in her tongue in one smooth, effortless dive. He brought a hand up, burying it in her hair, while the other massaged her ass before trailing fingers up and down her spine.

"Your turn for what?" He asked when they broke apart for oxygen.

"To take what I want."

"And what's that?"

"A confession." She grinned teasingly. "Of international secrets, of course."

He thought a moment.

"After the bomb scare, when you left the little party to say goodnight to me… I was going to tell you that I loved you."

Her breath stilled.

"But then Josh came up behind you, so I just said I was tired and needed to spend some me time."

She bit her lip, struggling to maintain her spy persona in the midst of this revelation. As she contemplated, his hand at her back wrapped around her waist, and he flipped her, pinning her to the bed this time.

"Now you."

She thought for a moment, and then smiled. "When we were in the freezer, and I was certain we were going to freeze to death, I was going to tell you that I loved you. But then I blacked out and the next thing I remember we were in the ambulance."

 _And Josh was there,_  she didn't add.

He kind of hated that guy simply for existing.

She rolled them across the bed, landing on top. "Your turn."

This was definitely one form of couple's therapy.

"When we were doing the takeover bomb case, and I told you that I had something to tell you, I was going to tell you then. But then…"

"Esposito came up and interrupted us. I remember." She didn't say how much it had hurt and perplexed her when he'd started pulling away soon after that.

He rolled them, ending up on top against despite her valiant efforts. He didn't even need to prompt her--she launched right in.

"Back when you invited me to the Hamptons, I was going to go with you. I broke up with Demming and was all set to tell you but then Gina arrived." She drew in a shuddering breath.

He kissed her, slowly, his hands coming up to caress her face. He wished to God he hadn't answered Gina's call, hadn't gotten back with her. He could have had so much more time with this woman below him, the amazing person who…

Who had just successfully flipped them again while he was lamenting over his fate. He sighed, his eyes twinkling at the triumphant minx grin on her face.

"I tried to not be in love with you," he admitted. He wasn't too proud of his actions at that time, but he had been hurting. "I tried to stop it, but you can't just push a button or flip a switch. You can't stop loving someone."

She watched him carefully, seeing the pain of those days replaying in his eyes. She lowered her body, pressing every inch of her against him that she could, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. Letting him know that she was here now. She was never going to put him through that again.

"I tried to hurt you, I'll admit that," he said slowly. "I wanted you to feel what I was feeling." He shook his head a little, like he was trying to shake off the dark thoughts. "But it didn't work. Nothing worked."

Then the light returned to his eyes, and he smiled at her. "And then you came to me, and…"

She kissed him. "I was a coward."

"You were scared," he countered. "And I was a hypocrite."

She chuckled. "Yes, yes you were."

He grinned. "Are those enough 'international secrets'?" He teased.

She lifted her hips. When she lowered them again, she took him inside of her, her breath whooshing out of her at the sensation. She gave a little cry of surprise when he flipped them again, still inside her but most definitely on top. She arched her eyebrow.

"I think you have one more thing to say."

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes, and then pecked him on the lips. "I love you."

"Good," he said, running his lips over her skin. "I love you, always. I can never stop loving you."

"Don't you dare," she teased breathlessly, beginning to move with him.

His lips never stopped tasting her, sampling her unique flavor, and as he drove into her repeatedly, the world fell away and she forgot everything except for the feel of him, the taste and smell and sound of him, all around her and in her and oh God, it was so good…

As she cried out his name, she realized that apparently, she also remembered his name. Huh. Interesting.

He followed her--he often followed her, often waited until he got to see her release before allowing himself his own--and the next thing either of them knew they were lying there, sweaty limbs and heaving lungs, utterly spent even though this hadn't been as wild as some of their sessions.

She rolled so that she was curling into his side, and he wrapped his arms around her. He buried his face into her hair, allowing her being to swathe his senses.

The distinct ring of a phone startled them, and with a groan he detached himself from her, getting up and finding the offending device in his discarded pants pocket. He couldn't help but be happy when he saw the Caller I.D., though.

"Hey, Pumpkin, what's up?" He asked, climbing back into bed. He smiled at Kate, who had propped herself up on the pillows and opened up the bed. He slipped in next to her, wrapping at arm around her shoulders as she rested her head on his shoulder, a hand on his chest.

The sound of Alexis' voice came through the phone. "I just wanted to know if you were planning to be home this evening, or if you won't be back until morning. I'm having some friends over and I don't want you two stumbling in with your clothes half-off."

Rick faked offense. "When would we ever do that?" He said, his appalled tone fooling neither woman.

"Just warn me if you're planning on bursting through the door, okay?" Alexis said patiently.

"I promise you, Pumpkin, we won't be back until late morning."

"All right. I love you, Dad. Love you, Kate!"

"Love you too, Lex!" Kate called into the phone.

"And you know I love you. Don't be too responsible!"

"Ha ha. Goodnight."

The call was terminated.

As Rick set the phone on the night table, Kate raised herself up so that they were eye-to-eye. "Why, planning on 'interrogating' me some more, agent?" She said, her accent back in full force.

"You know that is the sexiest thing ever, right?" He asked. "Like, Bond girl sexy. I think you missed your true calling."

"Are you saying you wish I was a Bond girl?" She teased, running her fingers over his chest.

"No way. I'm not letting a smooth-talking Brit steal you from me."

She started to giggle, but then he kissed her and there was no time for talking after that.


	6. Affair

He was pretending to type on his computer when the doorbell rang. He quickly closed the laptop and hurried to the door, opening it and letting her in. He shut the door quickly, but when he turned to her she was on him, pressing him against the closed door, her mouth working against his hungrily. He pushed her back, and she gave him the sultriest pout he'd ever seen.

"Did anyone see you?" He asked.

She laughed. "You think I don't know how to sneak into your apartment by now?" She asked, her voice low and breathy. He swallowed.

Slowly, she drew her nail up his chest, reveling in the feel of the muscle beneath her finger. "What about your part? Your 'better half' isn't going to walk in, is she?" She asked, teasingly slipping her finger underneath his shirt and slowly undoing a button.

He sucked in a breath and gripped her hips, his hands sliding underneath her coat. He growled when his hands met bare skin. "What are you wearing?" He asked, his breath hot in her ear.

She gave him a wicked grin and stepped back, dropping her coat. His breath vanished as he gazed at her. She was wearing a little blue scrap of what barely passed as panties, a garter (a  _fucking garter!_ ) and a push-up bra that did a lot of pushing up and not a lot of covering.

His tongue felt like sandpaper. He came forward, pushing her up against the wall, making her breath catch despite herself. He ran his hands over her skin, delighting in her body's responses. She refused to make any noise, to give in, but she couldn't completely hide how much she was enjoying the attention.

"Well, aren't you the bad girl," he said, his voice hoarse and dry.

"Hi, Pot, I'm Kettle. The pleasure's all mine."

He'd had about enough of that. He swooped down, swallowing her mewl eagerly, growling with pleasure as her hands came to fist in his hair and claw at his shoulders. He was pressing her against the wall that it almost hurt, but not enough for her to make him stop what he was doing to her. His hands were everywhere, burning her, making her skin crackle and smolder with energy.

She wasn't able to get much leverage from this angle, and she wanted to move things along, so she pushed off the wall. They stumbled backwards, his shirt somehow falling to the floor in the process, until they fell onto the couch with an "oomph" from one of them and a muffled expletive from the other.

After some fumbling, she ended up on top, grinding into his jeans while her hands roamed over his now-bare chest. She loved how alive he made her feel. It was as if she had been catatonic and now she was awake, truly awake.

Never one to sit back and let others have all the fun, he sat up, pushing his hands up underneath her bra, his fingers beginning to work their magic as he kneaded her breasts, tweaking and rolling her nipples. She bucked against him, trying not to make a sound.

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her ear. "We can't make a sound."

It was heady, the combination of forced silence, the fear of being caught, and what he was doing to her. She kissed him fiercely, her tongue engaging his, her hands snaking down to undo his pants.

"Not on the couch," he managed to gasp.

She understood--they were in full view of the door and entryway. No chance to hide if someone came in. He stood up and she wrapped her legs around him, kissing and sucking along the tendons of his neck. He growled, his grip on her ass tightening. God, he loved her ass.

They had made it as far as the dining room when she nipped at his pulse point and he stumbled, tripping over a dining room chair, forcing him to lay her down on the table to prevent them falling to the floor. Her hair splayed out around her, the russet and coffee and amber of her locks mixing with the deep mahogany of the table to create a delicious mixture of browns that made her eyes stand out. They glowed, green-hazel-brown, staring up at the man hovering over her with so much lust and love it made him dizzy.

His tongue laved a path down her body, his hands running over her thighs and those damn garters. She bit her lip to prevent any wayward moans from escaping, her nose flaring as she sucked in gasps of air.

"So the table is okay, but not the couch?" She teased, gripping the edge of said table fiercely as his mouth dropped lower.

"Well, the table is for eating, which kind of seems appropriate in this situation…" He chuckled against her naval.

She'd been keeping her hips firmly on the table, refusing to respond to him, but the minute he started talking they ignored her mental commands and bucked of their own accord, making him chuckle darkly again. His mouth hovered over her underwear, his hot breath making the heat between her thighs intensify. He thought for a moment, considering how to get her underwear off without having to remove the garter. She waited impatiently, her eyes boring into him, watching the blue of his eyes become a deep gray-blue, like choppy waves before a storm. He was thinking something, although she couldn't tell what.

"Do I have to remind you that we don't have a lot of time?" She asked, half sitting up.

He reached a decision then, and promptly ripped off her underwear. She gaped at him. She had really liked that pair.

He brought the soaked panties to his nose, inhaling the scent of her arousal, before dropping them to the floor. She glared at him. "You owe me for that," she warned him, sounding like a cop at an interrogation session.

"I'll buy you another pair," he assured her, winking.

"You–" Whatever else she was going to say was lost the moment he put his mouth on her. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her cries as he quickly brought her to the peak. She could barely resist the urge to buck into his mouth with all that he was doing to her.

Then… he stopped.

Panting with need, she raised her head up in time to see him shuck off what remained of his clothing and position himself on her. Their lips were so close there was barely any room to breathe.

"You better finish what you started, or I'm going to–"

He was really getting a kick out of interrupting her threats today. He entered her, smoothly and surely, and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. She was never going to get used to this feeling, and she hoped that she never would.

"Well, they say not to fill up on the appetizer before the main course." He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

She glared at him, but hooked her legs around him and shifted to allow them both a better angle. He began to move, and while at first he tried to keep things rhythmic and slow, to enjoy the buildup, he couldn't last like that. He rarely could, when it was this woman beneath him. He moved quickly, erratically, and she met every thrust. Pants and bitten-back moans floated into the air, their brains becoming clouded with a deep golden fog of lust and want and pleasure.

He really wasn't sure who came first. It didn't really matter, anyway. The first thing he was aware of after coming down from his soaring high was the feel of her skin on his, smooth but sticky with sweat. He raised his head a little, and met her eyes. They were the deepest, richest brown, the color of virgin soil, and the clouds of euphoria were only just beginning to clear.

"Hey, you," he whispered as he watched her return to earth.

She smiled at him, her entire face lighting up.

He withdrew from her and stood up, holding out his hand to help her off the table. She'd realized, about halfway through, that she was still wearing her bra, and the thought had occurred to her that her nipples were really going to chaff. Note to self: no bra next time. She looked up at him, waiting for his signal.

"We should probably clean up," he said, looking around at the crashed coat rack (when did that happen?) and the clothes and, oh, the chair that was pressing into his calves and butt.

She giggled, but helped him straighten things up. "Think we could try and make it to the bedroom next time?" She teased.

They had just finished cleaning when there was the sound of the key in the lock. They looked at each other, two deer in the headlights, and then dashed upstairs, taking their balled-up clothing with them.

No sooner had they reached the top of the stairs (and were out of sight) than the loft's youngest occupant entered. Alexis was carrying some groceries, a duffel bag with various changes of clothes inside, a briefcase, and was talking on her headset to someone or other. She set the groceries on the counter and finished the conversation, then surveyed the loft.

Noticing one of the dining room chairs out of place, she hastened to fix it. She was holding a meeting for a division of the Parks and Recreation Department (at which she was interning) in a couple of hours, hence the groceries, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

Alexis finished straightening up the chair… and froze.

Was that? On the table?

Alexis gave a shudder of horror, then looked up at the ceiling. "I have to hold a serious meeting at this table in two hours, you realize!" She shouted up at the two people she knew were listening. "I am cleaning this thing with bleach! You are disgusting! Use a bed like normal people!"

She then stomped off in a huff to get cleaning supplies.

Up in the master bedroom, Castle and Beckett collapsed on the floor with laughter.

"Oh, I'm evil. That was evil," Castle chuckled. "I'm a horrible father."

Beckett would have responded that he was a great father, but she couldn't breathe.

* * *

Kate lay in bed, the moonbeams cavorting across the room on their silver ladders, the soft sounds of traffic below making an urban lullaby. She was snuggled against Rick's chest, his arms encircling her, and she smiled contentedly. She rolled over and sat up, gazing down at him.

In sleep, his muscles had relaxed, making him look years younger--not that he ever looked old, by any means. His soft hair was tousled, flopping in some places and sticking up in others. His mouth, rarely silent when he was awake, was slack except for the tiniest upturn of the lips in the corners, like a secret smile, a private joke that only he knew. She smiled, unable to help herself. She couldn't imagine life without him.

Actually, she could. She'd had a glimpse of it, last year in the spring. The takeover bombing, the bimbo stewardess--flight attendant--whatever, Colin, all the rest... Colin, she felt bad about. She'd gone out for drinks with him but he'd quickly realized that her thoughts were somewhere else… on someone else. He'd bowed out graciously, but she was sure it stung.

It had hurt. Watching him pull away… It had hurt her so much. They had never really talked about things outside of subtext, and then they weren't speaking at all. She'd been desperate. So desperate, in fact, that she had panicked, cornering him and pretty much reading him the riot act. He hadn't listened, just ridden out the storm with scorn, until she'd let three little words slip. She hadn't even known she'd let them slip until she'd registered that he was staring at her, shock and hope mingling on his face.

She hadn't realized they were making out in the precinct until Ryan had gone into the break room for a cup of coffee and dropped his mug, shattering it on the floor.

Yeah, not exactly how she'd planned it out in her head.

The moonlight made the ring on her finger glint and sparkle, and she grinned helplessly. Nothing had turned out how she'd planned it, and she was eternally grateful for it.

Rick stirred, blinking sleepily, missing her warmth. "Esposito call?" He murmured, propping himself up on his elbow.

"No."

He noticed how she was holding up her hand, letting the ring catch the light. He smiled, taking her hand in his, looking down at the ring and then back up at her.

"I still think that 'better half' line was cheesy," he said, smiling.

"Well, we can't all be bestselling authors," she teased, snuggling back down next to him, her head on his chest.

There was a pause, and then…

"We are never telling Lanie we used her role play idea," Kate said.

"I'm sure she was just joking, what with the engagement announcement and all… I doubt she thought we'd actually do it."

"You are  _not_  telling her," Kate repeated firmly.

Rick just smiled, and they drifted into sleep.


	7. Mobsters

He stepped into the bar, his eyes surveying the area. The place was classy, but then, he'd expected it to be. It was no Pennybaker but hey, whoever was running the operation knew how to put up a good front. He hadn't seen a front business for a mob this good since… well, since Dempsey had popped his clogs last year.

He sidled up to the bar, raising his finger at the bartender. The man came up, his eyebrows arched questioningly. He indicated the patrons with a jerk of his head.

"In the office," the bartender said.

He nodded his thanks and headed down, past the booths and the small tables, past the twentysomethings reading off the famous names above the bar back, past the regulars sipping their chosen poison, down a short flight of stairs and into the pool room, off to the right, where the unassuming office door lay. He knocked on the door, then stepped back and waited.

The door was opened by…

Holy shit.

That dame was the sultriest fox on two legs.

Her deep green dress brought out her eyes and was scrumptiously reminiscent of  _Casablanca_. Her hair was piled up in a sweeping up 'do that looked like her hair was about to fall out any minute, formal and yet, so soft and hinting at how easily the bedroom could come into play. She leaned against the doorframe. Her creamy golden arms and legs were almost more skin then he could bear.

"You're expected," she said, her eyes raking over him.

He was a little surprised that it wasn't a hulking bodyguard at the door, but he supposed she must be the leading man's moll. Pretty trusting boss to let his current dame into a private meeting, but then, who was he to judge? Some people would consider his going to this meeting unarmed and without escorts to be the epitome of idiocy.

He stepped into the office, the smokin' dame closing the door behind him. He looked around him, noting the empty room. He turned back to ask the moll where her man was, then watched as she walked over and sat down in the large chair. Judging by her smirk, she could see his confusion.

The light dawned.

"You're the head of the Marconis?" He fairly gaped.

"Is that a problem?" Her teasing smile grew.

"No, I mean, that is…" Oh, great, he was stuttering. Fabulous. He took a breath and tried again. "May I?" He indicated the couch across from her. She nodded, and he sat.

"Let's cut to the chase," she said, all business. Her voice was clear-cut, and he saw that she was definitely not one to be trifled with.

"Let's," he agreed. "I heard you were interested in joining our families."

She nodded. "I had a business venture idea, yes."

"And just how do you plan to do that?"

The glint in her eyes went from steely to wicked. "How do you think?"

He leaned forward. "You don't have a half-wit sister you're trying to pawn off on me, are you?"

She laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that went straight to his… okay, down boy.

"I was thinking more along the lines of us." She smirked.

He grinned. "How do I know you're not going to knife me and take over both families on your own?"

She leaned back, crossing her legs, the slit in the side of her dress revealing her upper thighs. He swallowed hard. "You think I would have gone into this without having done any research? Do you believe that I would just pick a random family to join with? Your reputation is a good one, although your family is struggling, as is mine, and I have to admit that you fill several… personal… criteria that I'm looking for."

"Personal criteria," he repeated slowly, leaning back and relaxing against the couch. "I see that you've done your homework, but I'm afraid that I came into this meeting with little to no idea of what would happen. So, what if you don't meet my 'personal criteria'?"

She stood up. "Well then, I suppose we're at an impasse. Unless business reasons are enough for you to tie the knot."

"I'm afraid not," he replied, also standing.

She made as if to show him out, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, pressing her against him and placing his other hand on her waist.

"I thought you said–"

"I never said I wasn't going to test and see if you met my 'personal criteria', now did I?" He asked, his voice making her repress a shiver. "I've found it's always good to take things on a trial run before the actual operation."

"Spoken like an old hand at crime," she said. "Let's hope you're not old when it comes to other things."

"Now that was a low blow, doll." His hand slipped down and squeezed her ass, making her jump a little. The hand that wasn't in his grip came up and grabbed at his jacket, pulling him to her. Their breathing was ragged and raw and they hadn't even kissed yet.

"Shall we?" He asked, his lips brushing over her ear as he asked her.

A tiny sound emerged from the back of her throat, a kind of squeezed-off moan.

"I'll take that as a yes." He couldn't help but grin a little smugly.

Wanting to even the playing field, she twisted her wrist out of his grip and wrapped it around his neck, bringing his head down and kissing him fiercely. They fed each other moans, her fingers spearing into his soft hair, massaging his scalp as his hands ran up her body, gripping her hips, her ass, her back, everywhere.

They finally broke apart, heaving. "This dress is gorgeous, doll, but I have got to get you out of it," he breathed, unashamedly staring at her heaving bosom.

"I hope you didn't pay too much for this suit," she replied, disregarding the buttons on his shirt and ripping the shirt open. His jacket and shirt were quickly pushed off and fell to the ground. She spun slowly in his arms, along his hands to run over her skin before bringing them up to unzip her slowly. The dress peeled away, slinking down her body to pool onto the floor. She turned again to face him, their eyes meeting. She held his gaze, her eyes gleaming catlike in the soft glow of the lamps as she undid his belt, pushing his pants down his legs. She opened her mouth to say something, but he dipped her, like they were dancing, spinning her at the same time so that she landed softly on the couch, with him hovering over her. She was unbelievably gorgeous.

"Are you just going to stare, or are you going to live up to your reputation?" She demanded, arching her hips and pulling him down to her. He responded eagerly, turning so that he was sitting on the couch and she was straddling his lap. Her eyes were closed, reveling in the feel of his mouth on hers, but she instinctively raised her hips, lowering herself onto him.

She shuddered at the feel, clenching around him and causing him to break off the kiss with a groan. She thought he'd dive back in but instead he nuzzled at her throat, licking at her clavicle and sucking gently at the thin skin there. She arched against him, exposing more of her smooth neck. The feeling of him inside her, impaling her, swelling her, was fabulous enough for her to simply want to revel in it, but the bruises he was creating on her skin stoked the fire to a boiling point.

She began to move, rocking up and down against him, her body bending and shaking like a quivering archer's bow. His hands gripped her firmly, sliding over her sweat-slick skin, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was enjoying this as much as she was.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rough, either. It was somewhere in between, on the edge of pleasure and pain, where love and lust mingled and lines blurred and everything was too slow and too fast and too edgy and too real and yet unreal, unearthly, all at once. Her senses were assaulted with him, her body ultra sensitive, her every sense filled with some aspect of him.

He was never going to get tired of this view. Ever. The sight of her above him, framed by soft light, her hair, her eyes, her skin, her mouth, her little panting noises… did he mention her hair? It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His mind, addled as it was, still managed to run off a list of adjectives that circled around his brain.

_Gorgeous wonderful heavenly amazing sexy sultry beautiful striking lovely perfect…_

He didn't realize that he was murmuring them out loud, his lips still working against her skin, until she raised her head a little, humming with pleasure.

"If you don't… stop talking… I'm going to…" Her words were heaved out along with her breath.

"Then let go," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her ear. "Come on, doll. Let go for me."

She gave a keening cry, arching one final time. Her walls clenched, rippling, holding him in a vice of pleasure and he had no choice but to follow her, a guttural cry torn from him.

She sagged against him as he sank against the couch, her eyes closed but his open, staring into nothing. Slowly, tiny drops at a time, her energy returned to her and her nerves began to regain feeling. She rolled off of him, but not so far that he couldn't keep an arm looped around her waist. He blinked, the blurry heaven zooming into focus, becoming the everyday world again. He turned and looked at her.

A ghost of her former smirk flitted across her features before being banished by that relaxed, blissful look he loved so well. He could never confirm it, but something told him that he was the only one who'd ever brought that look to her face.

"So, did I manage to match your 'personal criteria'?" He asked, waggling his eyebrows.

She burst out laughing, scooting in to snuggle into him. She hadn't been the best of cuddlers at first, but she'd learned to love it. Well, to love it with him.

"The bartender must have had to pick his jaw up off the floor after seeing you in that getup," Rick said, smiling.

"More like put his eyes back in," Kate giggled.

"Did he ask why you wanted to go into my office?"

"No. I just told him I was meeting you there and that when you arrived, to indicate where I was." She shrugged.

"You make a good mob boss. I'm a little worried now."

She hit him playfully on the chest, letting her hand stay there, resting. She looked up at him. "I pity your employees. I'm pretty sure they know by now all the stuff we get up to in here."

"Ah, it's fair. I've caught a couple of them using the pool tables more than once."

Kate shot straight up. "They didn't use the big one in the corner, did they? That's  _our_  pool table."

He chuckled. "Don't worry--it's the pool table smack in the middle of the room that's the most popular."

She grinned wickedly, her grin spreading helplessly and her eyes sparkling. It was the face that took his breath away, every single time.

"Can we go back to the loft, now?" He asked. "I think there are some places we haven't christened since Alexis left for Stanford. Unless, of course, you want a drink first."

Kate laughed, standing up as he did the same. "I do believe we haven't done it on the living room coffee table yet."

If he could bottle up her bedroom voice and sell it, he'd corner the market on enhancement pills. What that woman did to him…

"Please tell me you're fine with leaving your car here for the night."

She grinned, holding up the Ferrari keys that she had somehow extracted from his pocket. "First one dressed and out the door gets to drive."

"You're on."

* * *

Later that night, Rick slipped his arms around Kate as she took her birth control pill in the bathroom. While he'd insisted that he wanted more kids, she'd insisted they wait until, you know, they had actually tied the knot. She also informed him that if knocking her up was his plan to get her to marry him, she would do things to him that would give him PTSD every time he stepped foot in a bookstore. No more Nikki Heat books after  _that_.

He knew she didn't mean it, but he stopped pushing.

Resting his head on her shoulder, he grinned as she half-heartedly glared at him in the mirror. "You're interrupting my train of thought."

"You have deep, uninterruptable trains of thought while taking a pill?"

She swallowed said pill and glared at him again. "As a matter of fact, yes."

"Are these metaphorical trains about me?" He was only baiting her, so her answer surprised him.

"Yes."

"Really?" He raised his head.

She smiled.

"What about me?" He asked, filled with curiosity.

Kate laughed. "You are such a nine-year-old," she said, rolling her eyes. But, she gave in. "I was thinking about Slaughter."

"What about him? The guy's psychotic."

"I was just thinking about what he said about me, and what he told you."

"You mean, the fact that I was insane for not 'going all manly caveman on you'?" Seeing her expression, he released her and put his hands up in surrender. "His words, not mine!"

She bit her lip to keep from smiling and failed spectacularly. "It's just that… when we first met, you would have agreed with him."

Rick frowned. "I'm not like that anymore, Kate. You know that."

Her smile could have lit up all of Manhattan. "I do know that," she assured him, her lips meeting his.

"You know, I first thought that pill would give your mouth a weird taste, but it really–"

"Castle?"

"Yes?"

"Stop spoiling the moment and take me to bed."

"Whatever you say, doll."

She rolled her eyes at the pet name, but she didn't refute it or shoot him down for it. He'd have to try calling her that in the precinct.


	8. Thief

Best-selling novelist Richard Castle was sitting quietly at his desk, indulging in a small glass of scotch. It had been a long day of writing and his head was beginning to ache. It didn't help that he was alone in the house all day, and would remain alone for a while yet, and so had no way to distract himself other than television. At this point, more electronics would only worsen his headache.

A soft sound made him look up. He surveyed the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The office was mostly in shadow, the only light coming from the lamp at his desk, but he could see well enough to tell that no one was in the room.

Well, he thought he could see well enough. One of the shadows against the window detached itself, stepping into the pool of light and revealing itself as a tall, unmistakably female intruder. Said intruder wore a black kerchief with eyeholes that hid the entire upper half of her face, but left her mouth and nose uncovered. The woman's long, dark hair was partially pushed back by the kerchief, like a headband, but tumbled around her face. She wore an all-black, form-fitting outfit.

The woman started slightly when she saw him there, but then her wide, plump lips curved into a positively wicked smile.

"Well… you're a lot better preserved than the mummified businessmen you usually find in places like these," she remarked, her voice sultry and touched with humor.

"It's all in the embalming process," he quipped, smiling at her. Okay, so maybe the smile bordered more on a leer…

Her grin remained firmly in place, and she raised a hand so that he could see it. She was twirling a pair of handcuffs on one finger. "Now be a good boy and don't make any fuss, okay?" She said, not a little teasingly. "I just need to make sure you don't go calling the cops on me while I peruse your shelves." She winked.

"And don't worry," she whispered as she sidled up to him, her breath hot and sultry in his ear. "This time, there's no tiger to spoil the fun."

Oh, yeah. He was a goner.

Within the span of twenty seconds, his hands were tied down with two silk ties (that looked rather familiar), one on each arm of the chair. She straddled him in order to tie them, lifting herself up and giving him a generous view of her… assets… before settling herself on his lap to admire her handiwork.

"You wouldn't mind straining a little, would you?" She asked, all professional.

He gave her a confused look.

"I want to make sure you can't get out," she said, rolling her eyes. There was something very cop-like about her just then.

He obliged her. Nope, there was no way he was getting out of those knots.

"Good boy," she whispered, her lips wet and juicy. She leaned forward, her lower body putting pressure on certain parts of him, and she put her hands on top of his restrained ones. A wicked smile curved her lips and she kissed him on the neck, right above his collarbone. "For that, you get a reward."

Slow, openmouthed kisses, all the way up his neck, along his jaw, until finally her lips were ghosting over his. At first, her mouth was tentative, almost as if she wanted to see what he'd do. Then she swiped her tongue over his lips, and he opened his mouth. Her tongue delved in, sliding over his, an appreciative noise coming from the back of her throat. When he tried to dominate the kiss, however, she bit down on his bottom lip with a growl.

"I'm in charge here," she reminded him, her voice low and dangerous.

"Don't you have some thieving to do?" He reminded her.

She hummed sensuously, rocking her lower body against him. "I've thought of something more fun to do."

Her hands slid up his chest, and she slowly slid open each of his buttons, pushing his shirt off and as far down his arms as it would go while his hands remained tied.

"You're going to beg," she promised him, before capturing his lips again.

He allowed her to control the kiss, remembering that she was in control. She ran her hands all over, up his arms, over his chest and abs, her nails scratching erotically. When oxygen fled, they broke apart. Her eyes were dark and on the edge of wild, the shining brown ring around her expanded pupils like a solar eclipse. She grinned wickedly, tugging her lower lip in between her teeth.

She began to kiss her way down his chest, her mouth caressing his skin, sucking and nibbling at her leisure. He hissed as she bit gently on his nipple, laving it with her tongue and then blowing cool air on it. She smiled appreciatively against his skin.

"And no talking, either," she said quickly. Best to nip that one in the bud.

She let her tongue do the walking down his stomach to the top of his pants. As slowly as she could, she undid them. He lifted his hips, allowing her to pull the pants and his boxers down his legs, where they pooled, forgotten, at his ankles. His erection sprang to attention, and she purred happily. She gripped the base of him, running her tongue up his length before daintily licking off the pre cum at the tip. It took all of his willpower not to move, but she felt the shudder of pleasure that rippled through him.

Her mouth descended, consuming him, running up and down him in slow, languid strokes. Her tongue pressed flat against his head, then swirled, her hands rubbing and cupping lightly all the while. He groaned. Her tempo didn't slow down in the slightest. If anything, she sped up. As he grew closer, she raised herself up higher on her knees, angling her head and taking all of him in her mouth that she could. He hit the back of her throat, and she bobbed her head enthusiastically as she moved her mouth over him, drawing him closer to the edge. Just when he thought he could feel himself falling, however, she pulled away with a smack of her lips. Her eyes flicked up to his face, gleaming like a tiger's when she saw the look there. "Not just yet. You don't come until I say so."

He nodded, desperate but determined to obey her.

She stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving his. With a skill that would have made a professional stripper turn green, she peeled off her gloves and lowered the front zipper on her suit. She peeled it off, kicking it away contemptuously. Once that was removed, her bra and thong quickly followed.

Lifting one long, creamy leg, she straddled his lap once again. He strained against the ties, longing to touch her. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she leaned back, wagging a finger at him. "Patience is a virtue," she whispered teasingly.

She planted her hands on his forearms, raising herself up so that she could lower herself back onto him again. She flung her head back involuntarily, a raw gasp bursting out of her. She began to rock, the angle ensuring that he hit her in her sweet spot every time. Within minutes both were gasping, her nails digging into him as she held on, his fingertips white from gripping the arms of the chair.

He surged forward without her permission, covering her lips with his. She was too caught up in the feelings to care, kissing him back hungrily, her hands shooting up to grab his face and hold him there. She mewled as he took control, his mouth devouring hers. Her body pushed against his as her back arched, her entire body vibrating. He could only gaze in awe at the beauty of it.

As she came down from her high, she felt that he was still hard within her. She smiled.

"Good boy," she purred.

She rose up just a little, re-angling her body so that her breasts were just below his mouth. "For that, you get a treat."

He didn't need to be told twice. He ran his tongue over her breasts, licking and biting until she was panting helplessly. She began to move over him, her movements frantic, almost erratic, until she screamed out in pleasure. She murmured as the ebbs of bliss subsided, before reaching down and quickly untying the bonds that held his hands back.

He immediately stood up, pushing her back onto the desk. He was in total control now, driving into her, holding her as they moved together.

"Now," she gasped, arching up as she began her orgasm.

He came with a shout, his climax blending into hers until they were shaking through it as one person.

They collapsed onto the floor in between the desk and the chair, enjoying the feel of the plush carpet.

"Talk about stamina…" Beckett mumbled.

Castle grinned, rolling over and leaning over her. He gently peeled back the bandana-mask she still wore. "You know you love it."

Beckett smiled slowly, running her fingers through his hair. Castle leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers. "Besides, you look amazingly beautiful when you come," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

Beckett smiled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him. After a minute, Castle disengaged, remembering something. "Next time, though, can I be the burglar?"

"I'll think about it."


	9. Secretary

There are many good things about being a success in your chosen profession.

For example, many professionals hold their own version of the Academy Awards, be it in the field of real estate, car manufacturing or restaurant chains.

One of the most recognizable signs of success is when you are so busy and prosperous that you have both the need for and the time to employ an assistant or secretary.

Richard Castle had a secretary.

Take that, Patterson.

She was new, but she was picking things up quickly. It also helped that she could have given Tyra Banks a run for her money in the model business. The way her ass looked in that pencil skirt…

Castle looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow as said secretary walked into his office.

"Mr. Castle? I hate to bother you, but we need to have a talk," Kate Beckett said quietly. Today, a plain white blouse that fit her almost too well accompanied the pencil skirt. It accentuated her extremely feminine body.

He gestured for her to begin. Kate moved so that she was standing directly in front of him on the edge of the desk. She placed her hands on the edge and leaned towards him slightly.

"I really don't appreciate how you've been treating me, Mr. Castle," she began, her voice just a little too breathy to be professional. "I don't think I've been getting the… respect… that I deserve."

The author stood up. "On the contrary, Miss Beckett, I think that I've been perfectly in the black. Perhaps you don't fully understand the implications of your job?"

In answer, she strode around the desk and wheeled his chair around, planting her legs on either side of his lap, her hands on the arms of his chair. "Oh, I understand perfectly, Mr. Castle. The question here is, are you sure that you understand your duty as the boss?"

He stood up, striding around the desk, slowly backing her away from the chair. They were very close together, almost too close for propriety.

"Are you suggesting, Miss Beckett, that I can't handle you?" He asked, his voice tinged with danger.

She drew in a sharp breath, and a smile fluttered at her lips. "I'm sure you've got a firm handle on things, Mr. Castle," she said, emphasizing certain words. "But I think it's time that you proved it."

"Do I need to remind you who the boss is here?"

"Oh, there's no question of that, Mr. Castle…"

She shoved him backwards, onto the desk, sending a paperweight and two pictures flying. Her lips latched onto his hungrily, her fingers making short work of his dress shirt, tearing it open instead of bothering with the buttons. Her hands immediately began to roam over his chest.

"It's me."

He pushed himself up, standing and stumbling forwards, pushing her back against one of the bookshelves. A couple of books went tumbling to the floor. He tugged her shirt out of her skirt, his hands diving underneath to skim her stomach and swipe at her nipples. She groaned into his mouth. He jammed his leg in between hers, and she perched herself on his thigh, feeding him little whimpers as he moved against her. He detached himself from her lips, now wet and swollen from his attentions, and allowed his mouth to explore the rest of her. He particularly loved the spot just behind her ear, sweet and perfect for his nose to nuzzle in. He also enjoyed the hollow of her throat, where a tiny drop of salty-sweet sweat had gathered. Another spot that he was becoming addicted to was right along her collarbone, at her shoulder. When he nipped there, her hips bucked into him.

Finding the ways to make her moan, creating a symphony of erotic Beckett-sounds, was definitely his new favorite pastime. By sucking on the pulse point in her neck, he produced a bit-back whimper. When he pressed the flat of his tongue on her nipple, he got a quick intake of breath. A squeeze of her breast earned him an appreciative hum of approval. And when he pressed his thigh up, rocking it against her just so, she gave a loud, drawn-out moan. He liked that sound best of all. He did it again, and again, his hands and mouth and leg never ceasing to move, until her moan changed in pitch, going up an octave and breaking up in time with her gasping breaths until her breath hitched, and she gave a little cry followed by a long, soft sigh.

He looked up just in time to see her open her eyes, the pupils so wide and dark they were like a portal to her soul. There wasn't a hint of warning--no softening of the eyes, no flash of thought--nothing to give her away. One second he had her pressed against the bookshelves. The next, he was on his back on the floor, and she was straddling him with single-minded determination.

Her smile was nothing short of predatory.

"Is that all you've got?" She teased. Her voice was low and gravelly, dripping with want. Her last orgasm had not dimmed the fire in her belly in the slightest. She needed him… all of him.

He sat up a little, just enough to grab her and pull her against him. He planted his mouth next to her ear. "Who said I was finished?" He whispered, tugging at her lobe. She gave a tiny growl.

Raising herself up, she hiked up her skirt. Seeing that her underwear was going to pose a problem, he snuck into his hand and ripped them away. She gasped, both out of arousal and frustration. Men just  _had_  to do that, didn't they?

The thought left as quickly as it came, though, when he began to strip himself, as well. She helped him push his pants down. Her kisses and nips at his torso were not helping to speed up the process.

When they were both finally uninhibited, she didn't waste a second. She rose up and filled herself with him in one fierce move. Her back began to arch as she moved, rising up and down. His large hands gripped her hips and waist, thrusting up into her as his patience frayed and snapped. Hard, fast, too much, not enough, harder…

He gave one final thrust, and she bowed her back, a hoarse cry torn from her lips. He was no less vocal than she was, his back nearly arching off the floor before he collapsed against the carpet. Her body sank down, like a heavy object in water, until she was pressed on top of him, her sweaty body sticking to his equally drenched one. He kissed her, slowly, taking his sweet time exploring her mouth, memorizing each exquisite detail. He discovered that this provoked another sound from her, this one a tiny, indescribable sound of need emanating from the back of her throat.

"Let's call it even," she finally whispered against his neck.

He chuckled. "Next time, you have to let me be in charge."

"I'll think about it," she replied, rolling off of him and getting up. Giving him a saucy look that sent a new shot of heat through him, she sauntered out of the office.

He shook his head, but got up to follow her. Who was he kidding--he loved her too much to put up much of a fight.


	10. Chauffer

Let it be said, to be preserved for posterity, that Detective Kate Beckett did not have an issue with control.

Let it also be stated, here and now, that Detective Kate Beckett was excellent at denial.

"All I'm saying, honey, is that we all know how much you like to be the one driving the stick…" Lanie paused at her friend's expression. "Shift. The stick shift."

"And all that I'm saying is that it really shouldn't be that big of a deal that I be the one to drive!" Beckett insisted.

Lanie pursed her lips in that infuriatingly knowing way of hers. "Uh-huh. So tell me; it's not a sign of extreme control issues and/or insanity that you would rather bum a ride from a friend then let your fiancé drive you home?"

Beckett sighed, sagging against the (now empty) examination table. Lanie planted her hands on her hips.

"You listen to me, Katherine Beckett-soon-to-be-Castle."

"Stop saying that."

The medical examiner continued as if she hadn't heard a thing. "You are working two cases at once, plus a case that's up for trial, and you haven't had a wink of sleep in the past four days. You have had so much coffee if I cut your finger you would bleed vanilla sugar-free latte, and your eyes are more bloodshot than the dude from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. You can't drive in this condition or you'll end up running over some old grandma. Now text him back and let him drive you home!"

With a sigh worthy of a Christian martyr facing the lion-filled gladiator pit, Beckett acquiesced. Pulling out her phone, she responded to Castle's text, sent ten minutes ago.

_Fine. I'll let you drive._

Even with texting, Beckett was a stickler for rules. That included the rules of spelling and grammar.

_C u soon! :)_

Castle, on the other hand, abused text lingo and emoticons shamelessly.

Twenty minutes later, Beckett's ride pulled up. At least he'd used the Ferrari, and not the patrol car that had not-so-mysteriously vanished from the garage that morning. She still wasn't sure how he got the keys out of her pocket.

If she was being honest with herself--and she wasn't --he would have admitted that yes, she was a little cranky from the combination of sleep deprivation, massive doses of caffeine, and cases with an annoying lack of leads. But all that vanished when she saw her partner pull up in his shiny red car. The top was up, which was a rare occasion, but even more noteworthy was the driver's state of dress.

He wore a suit that, while certainly not worthy of Downton Abbey, invoked the air of a servant. He even sported a pair of white gloves. Beckett arched an eyebrow, but her smirk softened the expression.

"Miss Beckett? Your ride is ready."

Oh. That tone in his voice…

Beckett's smirk grew. Cranky? She was so far from cranky it was almost comical.

"Thank you, Richard," she said, slipping into the role with an ease that almost startled her. This game was becoming easier, and more fun, with each session.

And, well, she did kind of owe him for last time. She hadn't really cooperated with the whole be-in-charge thing. (Although, she'd thought the handcuffs last week had made up for that…)

He opened the door for her with a slight bow, his face unreadable. As she sat down, however, he bent down, tugging the seatbelt over and buckling her in. His hands glided over her chest and lap, lingering a little longer than necessary in certain areas. When he was finished, he rested on hand on her thigh, gripping it firmly for a moment before releasing it, just as the fingers on his other hand glided up her arm, caressing her throat and jaw for a whisper of a moment before departing. He straightened.

"Just wanted to make sure you're properly secured," his voice glided over her, the undertones unmistakable. He closed the door before Beckett could do anything about the fire he had suddenly kindled in her belly.

Damn the man.

Since when had the Ferrari's engine roaring to life made her tingle like that? The first time she'd driven it, she'd gotten a rush of power, of adrenaline, at the thought of having such a pristine vehicle at her disposal, the controls right at her fingertips. She had heard, of course, of girls who got… well, hot around cars, but she'd never had that kind of reaction. She'd always been much more male in her relationship with automobiles. Now, though, she had to cross her legs. She blamed the guy driving the car.

What was the phrase? Oh, yes: damn the man.

Rick glanced at the woman sitting next to him. She looked completely composed to the casual observer, but he knew her too well. She was hot and bothered, and she was trying hard not to show it. He smothered a grin of villainous glee.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" He asked casually.

Kate said nothing.

"It must be nice to go home and relax after such a long work day," he continued.

His passenger made a noncommittal sound.

"Do you have anybody you're going home to? Someone you can… properly attend to your needs?"

No indication was given that she had heard him, except that she sat up a little straighter. A word to the wise--Kate Beckett's first giveaway (in regards to sexual tension) was that she sat ramrod straight.

After a moment of silence, Kate gave up and broke it. "No," she said. "There's no one at home."

This was technically true.

"Well, that's a pity," Rick said, his tone beginning to slide away from conversational and towards… something else. "A beautiful woman like you, with no one to take care of her?"

"I can take care of myself, thanks," her retort was soft, though, and lacked bite.

"Maybe, maybe not. It can be refreshing and rejuvenating to let someone else take the wheel sometimes."

Their eyes met briefly and Kate had to bite back her smile. He was warming her heart--and other, baser parts of her.

Since when had the drive home taken so long?

A few minutes later, Rick drove the car into the underground garage. He parked it carefully in the reserved spot, and got out. Kate was nice enough to let him open the door for her, but that was as far as he got. She stepped out and whirled around, pinning him against the car. The door clicked shut.

His hands instinctively moved to her waist and ass, gripping her fiercely as her tongue dove into his mouth. She delved in without hesitation, making tiny appreciative noises and trying her damndest to show him that  _this_  was what he did to her, and with barely any fucking effort on his part!

She grabbed the hand that was currently kneading her ass and moved it, practically shoving it down the front of her jeans so that he could feel how wet she was. His eyes widened slightly. The pleased shock on his face made her relax just a little.

Bad idea. He seized the opportunity, spinning her so that her stomach was pressed against the car and he was at her back. He wasted no time, kissing every part of her neck and throat that he could reach. His hand remained in her pants, though. His dexterous fingers moved aside her underwear. Her breathing became ragged and hoarse at once, a Pavlovian response to what she knew he could do; what she knew he  _would_ do.

His fingers knew what to do, both through instinct and practice, working against her, in her, moving her in ways that would have made any other woman scream. Fortunately for anyone parking their car somewhere else in the garage, Kate had too much self-control and dignity (well, she'd say dignity, while others would say sheer stubbornness) to do so… yet.

Relentlessly, he toyed with her. He knew her tells, knew the tiny giveaways that signaled she was near, and every time he felt them, he would stop. He never let her go all the way to the top, or fully slip off the edge. She had no idea how much more of this she'd be able to take before she started begging.

And she did not beg.

(Well, not since three weeks ago, but then, who's keeping track? Not her.)

In the interest of both getting what she wanted (namely, an orgasm and some control) and giving him what he needed--as evidenced by what was pressing against her back--Kate pushed herself off the car with as much force as she could muster. Her legs were a little wobbly but she succeeded in turning around and grabbing her stumbling partner by his shirt, dragging him to the front of the car and slamming him against the hood. He immediately grabbed her and flipped them so that she was the one with her back against the still-warm engine.

"I thought you agreed to let me drive?" He asked, teasingly.

She grabbed him by the back of the neck and drove his head down, kissing him so that he couldn't see her smile. He could feel it anyway.

Impatience set in, and she fumbled at his pants, finally managing to undo them and push them down. He was too busy decorating her body with hickeys to help. However, he did manage to rid her of her pants and (ruined) underwear. She wrapped one leg around him, arching against him to try and get her point across. He teased her one more time, and it would be the last thing he ever did.

Rick might have been a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them. He knew what she was getting at. He lifted her other leg, allowing her to hook her ankles around him as he entered her.

Talk about going from zero to sixty.

It could have been the fact that anyone could have walked or driven in, or perhaps the car element, but it was most likely the result of all the teasing, of being held so close, and not allowed to go over. Whatever the case, Kate quickly began to feel it building up within her, burning and burning and burning, consuming her like a particularly large and voracious fire.

Rick had once heard that some men preferred it with the woman on top, or below. Honestly, he couldn't decide which was more erotic. Kate was a goddess, his goddess, his woman, and if she wanted to be on top or on the bottom then who was he to argue? Either way, she undid him. But, as with zombies, conspiracy theories, and flirting in the precinct, he brought up the "driving" just to drive her crazy.

Currently, Kate being driven crazy was breathtaking. He could never hold on once her orgasm hit. The sight of her, her face slack and her mouth open, her hair spilling about her like tendrils of water down a cliff. He fell with her, his climax thundering through him, thrumming and beating itself along his bloodlines like a thousand horses.

As her engine died down, Kate let her legs fall to either side, miniscule beads of sweat making the golden cream skin glisten, almost like the skin of a fish or a snake, covered with shiny bejeweled scales of spun gold or sun-baked tan, or cream as it turns into butter. Her face was tinged with pink, her eyes glistening like two tiny brown beetles. She smiled up at him, enchanting and enchanted.

"Remind me to let you drive more often," she whispered.

"I'll hold you to that."

She laughed, high and clear, like a silver bell. He hauled himself off of her, and she stood up slowly. "Well, you certainly know how to handle the stick."

He finished adjusting his clothes and grabbed her hand, pulling her along towards the elevator. He didn't say anything when she let him open the door for her, but he did shoot Emilio the doorman a triumphant--and slightly giddy--grin.


	11. Masseuse

Two weeks. Two. Weeks.

It felt like forever.

Could it really only have been two weeks?

Two weeks since she'd slipped into bed with him while he'd been awake. Two weeks since he'd woken up to the weight of her in his arms. Two weeks since they'd taken a long, leisurely shower together, steaming up every surface and laughing like teenagers.

He was going mad.

Actually, he was pretty sure that Kate was going mad, too. She was just uncommonly good at hiding it.

Now, he'd been working with Kate for years. He'd seen the kind of days or weeks that cops could have. There had been times, before they were together, where he'd barely get to talk to her outside of a case because she was so busy. Sometimes she'd be drowning in paperwork, and he'd come just so that he could sit next to her, supplying her with coffee and offering moral support. Of course, he never did the paperwork himself… he never said he was a saint.

But none of the previous times had compared to this. It had been two weeks of nonstop work for her, and he was calling a halt. He now owed more favors to Ryan and Esposito then he could ever hope to pay off, and Gates was going to make him pay dearly at some point when he least expected it, but he'd managed to pull it off. As of this Friday evening, Detective Kate Beckett had the weekend off. The boys had her remaining paperwork covered (thanks to some handy-dandy forgery skills, compliments of one devious M.E.), and Gates had given her blessing. Well, blessing might be too strong of a word. Grudging permission, more like.

None of that mattered though. The only thing that mattered was that his Kate would be once again his, or at least for the weekend. She'd need to relax from all that stress, of course… and he had the perfect plan for that.

* * *

Beckett stretched slowly, linking her arms above her head and arching her back. It did nothing to ease the ache in her back and shoulders. Two weeks of this and just a simple stretch wouldn't do it. Clearly, she'd have to go to physical therapy again… if she could find the time. She hadn't even been able to do her yoga or running. Not that she had the energy. She was drowning in two parts paperwork and one part coffee, with a dash of overbearing boss. What she wouldn't give for a good few days–

"Detective?"

Beckett turned to see Captain Gates standing in her office doorway. Did that woman ever actually cross the threshold of her office if she didn't have to?

"Yes, sir?"

"Take the weekend off."

The captain turned and shut the door in Beckett's face before she could do more than let her jaw drop.

First order of business--other than sprinting for her car before Gates changed her mind--was calling Rick. He'd been nothing but supportive, weathering the storm of work, but she knew that it was just as hard on him as it was on her.

In fact, the only one happy about all of this was Gina. Rick had actually gotten some chapters turned in on time because he had nothing else to do and Kate was not available for procrastination (he called it inspiration, but they both knew the truth).

She pulled out her phone and dialed the number from memory, putting it to her ear as she entered the elevator.

"Kate, hi." His voice in her ear was both soothing and exciting. She smiled.

"Hey." She leaned back against the elevator wall, closing her eyes to better soak up the sound of his voice.

"How's the paperwork? Any chance I'll get to see you before I inevitably fall asleep sometime after one a.m.?"

"Actually…" Her smile grew. "Gates just gave me the weekend off."

"Really? How about that? Please tell me this means you're on your way home."

"I'm heading to my car as we speak." The elevator dinged open and she hurried through the parking garage. "And Castle?"

"Yes?"

"You can stop doing your happy dance now."

He gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Got it. I'll see you soon."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. And hey, if you wanted to break a few speed laws getting home, I wouldn't tell on you."

She laughed. "I'll see you in a few."

Climbing into her car, Kate felt lighter then she had in weeks.

* * *

Humming to herself, Kate unlocked the door and happily closed it behind her, hanging up her coat and tossing her keys aside. To her surprise, she wasn't immediately assaulted. The last time she'd been at the precinct this much, her first early night home she had barely even gotten in the door before she'd been hoisted up against the wall.

"Castle?" She called, stepping into the main living area.

She stopped as she took in the scene.

The room was lit entirely by candles. They gave off a faint, pleasant smell of vanilla and lavender and bathed the room with a soft golden light. The couch, chairs and coffee table had been moved to the side, allowing for room in the middle. Enough room, in fact, to hold a…

Okay, where the hell had he gotten a massage table?

"Kate!"

She spun around, a smile on her face. The smile turned into the second jaw-drop of the day when she saw Rick.

"I'm glad that you could make it today. I understand that the life of a cop can be grueling, but it's important that you find time to relax. Once things die down, we can schedule your appointments at the usual time, but given your hectic work days recently I have no problem figuring out other times."

The entire time that Rick spoke, he was carefully fixing up the massage table, laying out a sheet, etc. Kate stood there, transfixed, her mouth still slightly open.

Rick was wearing a pair of thin, loose-fitting sweatpants, and nothing else. Call her a sucker, but the sight of his bare chest never failed to get her going. She knew, she just knew that he'd done it just to rile her.

He looked up and, seeing that she hadn't moved, went up to her. With one finger, he gently pushed her jaw closed. He smiled, that upturned-corner-of-the-mouth-roguish grin that made all hearts of his female fans melt. It made Kate's heart melt, too, but she wasn't ever going to admit it. The man had too much control over her as it was.

Gently taking Kate's hand, Rick led her over to the table. "Lie on your stomach, please."

From somewhere in the far recesses of her brain, the thought floated up into her consciousness that Rick had mentioned something about massage classes a couple of years before he'd met her… still in a mixture of pleasant surprise and slight shock, Kate did as she was told.

"Oh, wait." Rick held up a hand and she stopped, sitting on the table. He gestured to her clothing. "You'll have to strip first."

Kate stared at him. Of course she had to strip.

She slipped off the table and proceeded to slip out of her clothes. Rick gave her a sly smile and then turned his back so that he couldn't see her. The false modesty made her want to laugh. Completely nude, she lay stomach-down on the massage table, draping the provided towel over her ass and upper legs.

She heard him turn back and approach the table. Two warm, strong hands spread over her back. At first, they just smoothed over her skin, sending warmth throughout her body. After a few seconds of that, he began to slowly apply pressure with the heels of his hands until he was kneading her back with expert skill. Kate hummed with pleasure as he carefully worked out the knots in her body.

He leaned down, his mouth right next to her ear. "You can let go," he whispered.

Kate gave a tiny moan. He was so  _good_  at this.

His hands slowly began to work south, dipping under the towel to get at her ass occasionally. She moaned in earnest, giving him permission to go further.

"Lift up," he whispered.

Kate lifted her body up just enough for him to slide his hands underneath her. He palmed her breasts, working her nipples until they were painfully sharp. She felt him begin to lift her, and she obliged him, allowing him to put her in a sitting position. He remained behind her, his hand sliding slowly down her stomach to cup her. She let a tiny gasp escape her lips.

His fingers slipped inside, both penetrating and working her clit. She moaned, letting her body relax into him. "That's it," he murmured, his fingers moving unmercifully, working her higher and higher. She felt almost like the strings in a bow, wound too tight until… she snapped.

She felt like she was tumbling over the edge, everything loose and open and falling free. She cried out, her body stiffening once and then collapsing. Only his arms around her kept her from falling off the table.

"Oh God…" She murmured, clearing her throat. Her voice was surprisingly hoarse. She turned and looked up at Rick, who was looking at her like it was their first time all over again, like he couldn't believe that she was there, with him, doing this.

"Did that help you relax?" He asked, grinning.

Kate hummed. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"You can take those pants off and take me to bed," she corrected him, swiveling on her perch to kiss the expanse of skin hovering tantalizingly just an inch or two from her lips.

Well, who was he to say no? She was a badass cop who could kill him with her pinkie, after all.

Those two weeks had been totally worth it.


	12. Librarian

Richard Castle stood quietly, inhaling the unique mix of paper, ink and whatever they bound books in. While the smell permeated the entire room, if one stood directly in front of the bookshelves the wonderfully bookie smell would assault the senses, inviting you in to explore worlds unknown, go on adventures within the confines of your mind, and meet new friends near and dear no matter how imaginary they were.

He didn't hear anyone approach, but he did sense another presence. He could feel the warmth radiate from them, their breath passing over his shoulder like a tiny ghost.

"Having trouble finding something?" A controlled, almost prim voice asked.

He turned around, meeting the dark eyes of a woman a few years younger than himself. Her hair was done up into a bun, revealing an expanse of creamy neck that descended into her dark brown blazer. Her pencil skirt and chunky heels both screamed no-nonsense.

Rick turned on the charm. He wasn't sure if she recognized him or not, but either way she didn't seem the type to be easily won over. "I'm just looking for a good read… I've been rather disappointed with the selections lately. I was hoping for something gripping. A surprise under the cover, if you know what I mean."

The woman arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Mm-hmm. Any particular genre?"

He stepped a tiny bit closer. "Mystery."

The woman's lips quirked. "I think I can help you."

Without a word she turned and went through the bookshelves, her heels clicking quietly. Her posture was straighter than a stuck-up Victorian's but the pencil skirt did wonders for outlining her ass. Rick took a moment to ogle it as she led him across the library.

They ended up in one of the farthest corners. A window high up provided some lovely natural lighting, but other than that the area was dim. The librarian gently trailed the tips of her fingers over the books on a shelf just a little above her head.

"You'll be wanting something original, of course. Nothing generic or overdone." She ran her finger slowly down the spine of a book. "It'll have to be cryptic. Hard to decipher the clues at first. Perhaps occasionally confusing. And…" Here she gave him a side-glance over her shoulder that was so full of heat, he nearly melted. "A little on the kinky side."

Rick took a mental note to speak to the faculty about their heating system. It was way too hot in here.

It was the librarian's turn to step a little closer. "Of course, I'm not sure I can allow you to check out a book here," she said, taking another step towards him. He instinctively took a step backwards and found himself with his back against another bookshelf.

"Oh?" He asked. His throat was suddenly quite dry.

She nodded earnestly, but there was a playful spark in her eyes. "It's just that with your record…"

"My record?" He put on his most charming smile. "I can assure you that all books I check out receive the utmost care." His voice dropped to a lower timbre. "I've never had any complaints."

"That's the thing," she said, taking one last step so that she was directly in front of him--so close, in fact, that he could have put his hands on her hips if he so chose. He had to resist the urge to do so. "They get all of your attention for a short while, but then… well, they get abandoned. And we can't have that. Books need constant love."

"I think you underestimate me." He did put his hands on her hips then, pressing their lower bodies together. "Allow me to demonstrate?"

She offered no protest, so he went on. "The first thing about books is that you can't simply open one and dive in. It's… uncouth. It shows a lack of sophistication." He began to slowly move his hands up her body. When he skimmed the sides of her breasts, she inhaled sharply through her nostrils. "First, you have to get a good look at their cover. What do the reviewers say? Who's the author? How is the book bound?

"After that, you can open it up and see what's inside. It's also good to smell them--did you know that books have different smells?"

He punctuated his words by leaning in and pressing his nose to her neck. He inhaled softly. She arched her back, which pressed her further against him. In danger of losing her balance, she gripped his shoulders.

"Some are musty, others are crisp and new. A few smell too much like ink, while I've known a few that I swear the publisher perfumed. But there are still many that don't have a definable scent… they just smell  _good_ …"

His fingers slid over her blazer, undoing the one button at her stomach and pushing it out of the way. He then began to slowly slide each button of her blouse loose.

"You have to feel the book as well," he whispered, his mouth hovering a centimeter from her ear. He slid his hands around her smooth stomach to trace his fingers up her back. "You have to feel the spine…" She shivered involuntarily in his arms. "What the pages are like… you have to know how the book feels in your hands."

He massaged her back a little before pushing both her blouse and blazer off of her body. They fell to the floor with a thump so soft that he had no fear of someone hearing. She reached up and cupped his face, making the tiniest rolling motion with her hips.

"Don't forget… books have a tendency to surprise you."

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, watching as she slid down the zipper of her pencil skirt before stepping out of it. He saw, with a mixture of pleasure and surprise, that she was wearing nothing else down there. Still wearing those heels, she straddled him. Her hand came up and took out the clip holding her hair in its bun, sending a cascade of hair down her shoulders like mahogany wood shavings.

"Haven't you heard the phrase 'don't judge a book by its cover'?" She teased, leaning down to unbutton his shirt. Her movements were smooth but quick, and she had it off of him in no time. "The good books might seem stuffy or stiff at first, but once you get past the cover…" She reached down and palmed him through his pants. "They grab you and never let go."

He obligingly lifted his hips for her to undo and pull down his pants. Before she could do more, however, he sat up, taking her into his arms. "The best kind of book," Hh whispered, planting kisses on her throat. "Is when it takes you on a journey. It sucks you in, and you're almost an active participant."

"Better than just observing all the action?" She asked, undoing her bra so that he could palm her breasts.

"Much better," he assured her.

She forced his head up and pressed her lips against his. The kiss seared him through to his bones.

"There's nothing better than getting deep into a book," he whispered before kissing her again.

At some point, he leaned backwards, allowing her to shift and lower herself onto him. Her eyelids fluttered and she smiled wickedly down at him.

"They say that the best books move you," she said, her voice low and breathy. She shook her hair out of her face. "Allow me."

She moved above him, slowly at first, but faster once they found a rhythm. The shafts of light from the high-up window lit them up like an unusually soft stage light, and for a moment it was as if they were acting out a fantasy--not even one constructed from their own minds, but something from a book or film… something beyond their world.

They were as quiet as possible. While there was little chance of anyone coming back there, if they were to make too much noise someone would be bound to hear and come investigate. She loved the angle, able to control the tempo and maneuver as she pleased, and it was great that she was able to come from simple penetration when she was like this. But soon it became too much for her, and she leaned forward to press herself to him, allowing him to grip her hips and thrust up into her. She was close, he was close, and they were both too impatient. They were sprinting the last mile to the finish line.

He held her hips down to thrust one last time, his climatic pump hitting her sweet spot and setting her off. Her arched, the breath sucked out of her like a sucker punch, and he latched his lips onto her neck to muffle any sounds he might let forth.

When their bodies stopped shaking, she slid slowly off of him, rolling to the side so that she could collapse boneless next to him.

"Promise me you won't ever talk about books like that at a signing," Kate said ruefully, her chest still heaving.

"If I do, it will be because you're there," Rick joked.

She glared at him, but she was so full of post-coital bliss that it wasn't particularly threatening.

"Hey…" He stroked her side with two fingers, feeling the puckered skin of her surgery scar, the three freckles just above her hip, and the bump of her ribs. "Let's go pick out some books."

Kate laughed, sitting up and running her fingers through her hair. "Let's get cleaned up first, hmm?"

They strolled through the library, clothes under their arms, completely oblivious to their state of undress.

"Remind me again how you got a key to this place?" She asked, looking around the dark, closed-up space.

Rick shrugged. "I know a guy." He checked his watch. "C'mon, we only have two hours before the library opens."

They chased each other all the way down the hallway.


	13. Masquerade

The music was surprisingly low despite the fact that it still pounded through the walls, making the floorboards hum. The owner of the loft knew how to throw a fabulous party, and one of the things he knew was that while music can set the scene, it becomes a distraction if it's so loud you can't hear what your dance partner is saying.

Fortunately, the pulsing beat was still loud enough that it was a good excuse for the men and women in the room to lean forward and murmur into each other's ears.

One of the men wove his way through the crowd. He smiled and nodded, greeting everyone. It was Halloween, and the host had given strict orders that everyone come masked. There were also instructions clearly stating that no one was allowed to reveal whom he was before the stroke of midnight, when everyone would unmask.

The host had a notorious flair for the dramatic.

A few people were so obvious--despite their elaborate costumes--that the mask was unnecessary. Others, however, were routinely being mistaken for someone else, while a few flitted about in the safety of anonymity (the mistaken identity issue was coming to a head near the punch bowl, when a junior detective kissed the woman he thought was his precinct's M.E… only to discover it was a beat cop from the adjacent precinct. The real M.E. was far from pleased).

The man slipping between the groups of chatting guests knew everyone--well, almost everyone, there were several party crashers--in the room, but only recognized about two-thirds. Despite the sexy nurse costumes and elaborate Black Swan impersonators, however, none of the ladies present was really catching his eye.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

He turned, his jaw nearly dropping at the woman in front of him. She was wearing tight, almost knee-high red boots, red gloves, a red leotard that left little to the imagination, and a kind of skirt that still left ninety-five percent of her thighs exposed. Her long, luxurious hair was held back by a kind of red bandana, and there were red ribbons woven through her hair. She even had two trident-like weapons, small and the perfect size for hand-to-hand combat. They were strapped to her waist, a bold declaration.

Sensing his examination, the woman smiled. Her bandana was pulled down all the way to her nose, with two eyeholes cut out to allow her to see. Her lips were as red as her outfit. "Don't tell me," she said, "You couldn't decide on a costume."

"Actually, I'm going for a more subtle version of my original idea." He indicated the one-of-a-kind, cost-an-arm-and-a-leg, white-tie-affair tuxedo. The outfit was flawless, all the way down to the elegant cufflinks--monogrammed with a family crest and the initials "B.W."

He couldn't see, so he wasn't absolutely sure, but he was almost certain that the woman raised an eyebrow at him from beneath her mask.

"I'm Bruce Wayne," he explained. "Well, Bruce Wayne at a masquerade ball. I had to wear a mask, after all." He indicated his mask, a simple upper-face covering made of black velvet.

Noticing that the music had changed, he offered her his arm. "Care to dance?" He asked.

"My pleasure." She took his arm and allowed him to lead her out onto the floor.

"I hate to burst your bubble," he said, once she was in his arms, "But I think my costume is better than yours."

"Really." Her dry tone indicated that she did not agree with him.

"Well, everyone knows who you are supposed to be, but no one knows who I am."

No mask could hide that eye-roll. "And who am I supposed to be?"

"Elektra--one of Marvel's most popular female heroines."

"Somebody knows his comic books, Mr. Wayne."

"So why did you do it?"

She frowned at him, and he hastened to explain. "Why did you choose this particular costume?"

The woman in his arms shrugged. "She's my favorite comic book character. Deadly, well-trained, determined, walks her own path…"

"Lost her mother at an early age…"

That earned him a painful step on his toes with her boot heel. "Besides, I like red."

"It certainly suits you."

"And what about you?" She asked. "Why'd you choose Batman--or, rather, his everyday persona?"

"Well, going in an actual Batman costume is both clichéd and rather tricky to pull off. First of all, there's the matter of comfort. Second of all, you would not believe how difficult it is to find a proper suit. And third of all, even if you did have a proper suit, there are very few men in this world who could actually pull off the look. And while I have little doubt that I could do that…"

Once again, he could almost feel her expression of amusement.

"I just didn't want to risk it. And Christian Bale refused to let me borrow his costume, so there was that. Besides, Bruce Wayne would show up to a gala like this, not Batman. That would be far too obvious."

"Of course it would." Her voice was the equivalent of an eye-roll.

He spun her out and brought her back in again. "I must say," she admitted, her lips tilting subtly upwards, "You play the part well. Smooth talker, smooth dancer…"

"I assure you that I fulfill the other requirements as well."

"What, the Batcave and billionaire industry?"

"Ah, no. Sadly. I was thinking of something more associated with Bruce Wayne's personality, rather than his assets."

Her eyes gleamed. "You mean his more… personal assets?"

"I could mean that." He turned her so that her back was to his chest, her arms crossed as she held his hands. She turned her head so that she could better catch his words, his mouth just above her ear. "It depends on the person who's asking."

"What if the person asking is bored with this party and wants to find out if you're just talk?" She replied bluntly.

Her sudden forwardness startled him, and she took advantage of the moment to turn so that they were facing one another once more.

"I don't know about that," he replied. "I'm DC and you're Marvel… aren't we supposed to be deadly enemies? Although, I suppose angry sex has its place..."

The one earned him a slap to the chest. "While I am generally a Marvel fan," the woman admitted, "I will concede that Batman is one of the best." She glanced around them. "So are there any dark corners in this place? Say, a Batcave we could escape to?"

"You're in a bold mood." He grinned.

She shrugged. "I'm in a mood to live on the edge a little."

His grin widened. "Allow me to give you a tour, then?"

He didn't give her a chance to reply--or protest--but led her from the dance area, past the crowd and up the stairs to the second floor.

* * *

 

"…And this is the master suite," he announced, gesturing at the room that was the final stop on their tour. He'd shown her the upper floor, the downstairs bathroom, and the office (which one had to walk through to even get to the master bedroom). "It might not be the Batcave, but it's one of the classiest man caves you'll ever find."

"Hmm." She looked around for a moment at the room. Two small lamps on either side of the massive bed gave off a dim light. "It doesn't have a massive television or a foosball table, I'll give you that."

"And here I thought the view of NYC and the Midnight Blue pillow coverings were what made it classy."

She chuckled, seating herself on the bed. She ran her hands over the fabric. "Egyptian cotton?"

"Of course." He pretended to be affronted that she would even entertain the thought of anything else.

Elektra--yes, he was calling her that in his head--stood up and made her way towards him. "So… Bruce." She was still teasing him, but in a gentler, more intimate fashion. "Are you going to live up to your persona tonight? Or are you just giving me a tour of the house for kicks?"

"You really are serious."

She shrugged again, gracefully. "Like I said, I'm in a mood to live on the edge."

He glanced at the clock. It was 11:15.

Plenty of time before he had to head back to the main room for the unmasking.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of how to start.

Fortunately, his companion had no such qualms, and merely strode forward to catch him in a searing lip lock. His hands splayed out into the air for a moment out of surprise before they fell, catching her waist in their strong grip. One of them initiated the move to the bed--it was impossible to tell. Pushing or pulling, they somehow ended up on top of the sheets. The leather of her outfit and the many layers of his suit were nothing short of exasperation, but they managed to eventually cast them away. Then it was just the two of them.

And the masks.

They kept them on throughout. The red framed her glittering eyes as she surveyed his body. It matched her cheeks as they flushed with exertion, her head tipped back. The black made his blue eyes stand out even more. It somehow enhanced his growl as he nipped at her collarbone or suckled at her nipple.

The masks also added that element of danger, a dark thrill that could not be denied. The anonymity, secrecy, the feeling of  _wrong_ … it was all adding up to an intoxicating mix that went straight to their heads… and their libidos.

"Harder… yes… there, please, just…" She was equally frustrated and aroused, so close to the edge.

Climax struck them both suddenly, flushing though them like a tsunami. Consciousness fluttered like a thousand dark droplets of water, suspended in the sky for a brief moment before crashing down into the earth, their pleasure scattered into a hundred raindrops, splashing into their heated bodies, satisfying and cooling their fervor.

He rolled off of her, his chest still heaving a little. The ticking of the clock suddenly seemed to fill the dark room, and he turned to speak to her.

She was gone.

The bed still held the heat of her body, and the sheets and pillows were molded into her shape, but the woman had vanished soundlessly, and in the space of an instant--almost like the character she had modeled her costume after.

He turned to look at the clock. 11:55.

He hastened out of the bed, cleaning himself up and dressing. His suit, fortunately, was not noticeably wrinkled, and nothing had ripped. Wiping the sweat from his face and readjusting his mask, he reentered the main room.

Everything was as they had left it. The only difference was that the many guests had stopped dancing and were all beginning to cluster into one great mass on one side of the room. The man who had pretty much just lived up to his persona for the evening stepped up onto the kitchen area. The floor there was raised about a foot higher than the rest of the room, allowing him a kind of soapbox upon which to address his guests. He swiped a glass of something alcoholic and a fork from the island at his back and tapped on the glass with his utensil. The room quieted.

"I want to thank you all for coming this evening. A party is only as good as its attendees, and I must say, you guys really know how to party."

There was some cheering and raising of glasses (and wine bottles). The man smiled and continued. "As you can see, it's almost midnight, which means that we've had plenty of time to guess who's who. As soon as that ridiculously large clock over there on the mantle finishes chiming, we'll all remove our masks."

There was a movement, a ripple in the crowd, and a woman clad in a very distinctive red outfit made her way to the front. She was standing almost directly in front of him. Not a strand of red ribbon in her hair was out of place. He was glad that she hadn't left, hadn't completely abandoned him.

The clock began to chime. One… two… three…

"Now!"

Everyone removed their masks.

Immediately the room was filled with a chorus of exclamations, ranging from "Wait,  _you're_ here?" to "I knew it was you!" to "Oh shit."

But as the host of the party removed his mask, he had eyes only for the Marvel superwoman carefully peeling back her bandana.

Richard Castle smiled down at his wife as she stood there, devilishly sexy costume and all, her smile a mixture of flirtation and openness that she reserved only for him.

"Marvel's better overall, eh?" He asked, making his way towards her.

Kate shrugged. "You have to admit, DC has its problems. They had to resort to a total reboot--a disappointing one, might I add."

Castle made a scandalized noise and was about to reply, when something at the back of the crowd caught his eye.

"Um… Kate? I think we might have to separate Lanie and Espo again."

Kate looked over her shoulder and saw the quivering tower of rage that was Lanie Parish (dressed as a belly dancer) and Esposito, who was desperately trying to explain himself (his Zorro costume was not helping matters).

"Oh God…" Kate muttered. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, they made their way through the crowd. As they did so, Castle got a good look at the back of Kate's costume.

"Sweetheart…"

Kate looked back at him.

He cleared his throat. "Your, um, I may have, uh… your costume is torn."

To his surprise, she didn't fly into a rage. She just winked at him. "Well, I think that's a worthy price to pay for some dark, dirty deeds with a sexy stranger, don't you?"

Oh, yes. She would never stop leaving him speechless.


	14. Plumber

Castle paced impatiently. The company said that they would send their next available workman as soon as possible. That had been over an hour ago. Surely there couldn't be that many busted toilets in Manhattan?

Oh, wait… it was Manhattan. Never mind then.

Despite knowing that his pacing would not accelerate time at all, Castle continued to walk in a steady line from one end of his foyer to the other. He was kind of hoping to get the sink fixed before Alexis came home for the weekend, so that they could all cook dinner together, just like old times. That girl of his didn't come home often enough. It wasn't like she was half the world away. She didn't have an excuse.

In Castle's mind a mountain of homework, overloading on semester hours, volunteer work and an internship did not count as excuses.

He was just about to roll up his sleeves and try to fix the damn thing himself when the doorbell rang.

Muttering, Castle strode over to the door and opened it, a sharp comment all ready to go for the lazy guy that took so long to–

Only it wasn't a guy.

A very short, faded, form-fitting pair of overalls, a messy bun, a clingy white shirt and ballet flats all adorned the frame of a woman that should never, in any perfect world, be a plumber, unless she was modeling as a plumber for some ad or another.

But there she was, tool belt and all, eyeing him impatiently as he stood there gaping at her like a fifteen-year-old dork.

"You're Mr. Castle, right?" The woman asked, her brow creasing. "You called for a…" She looked down at the clipboard in her hand. "Busted sink?"

Castle swallowed, searching for his voice and finding it somewhere in the vicinity of his kidneys. "Yup, yeah, that's me. Come on in Miss… uh…"

"Beckett," the woman stated, striding in as if she owned the place. She made no ado but went straight for the kitchen, plunking her tool belt down on the floor. She didn't go to her knees, however, instead bending down to open the cupboard below the sink and check out the pipes. Castle couldn't help but appreciate the way the faded denim hugged her ass… which was a pretty damn fine ass, by the way.

"So you're a plumber?" He asked. He then mentally smacked himself for asking her such a stupid question.

"Yup. Don't get a lot of call like these, though." Beckett's head emerged from under the sink, and she gave him a once-over.

"What do you mean? Not a lot of plumbing systems like this?" Castle asked, slightly confused.

"I was thinking more of the plumbing system's owner." Beckett said, winking before disappearing under the sink again.

Did she just…?

"In my experience, pipes are a lot like people," Beckett explained, her voice slightly muffled from her position but still understandable. "They need care and attention, and every so often…" She emerged once more, standing up and wiping off her legs. "A flush-out."

"A what?"

She fixed him with a stare that was half exasperated, half flirtatious.

"You know… getting rid of all that excess energy, the pent-up frustrations, the… need for release."

Castle grinned. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting," Beckett said slowly, "That you let me take care of your…" She glanced down for the barest moment before flicking her eyes back up to meet his. "Plumbing."

"That sounds like an excellent idea."

To his surprise, Beckett didn't make any more moves of the sexual kind. She turned back to her tool belt and seemed entirely fixed upon the sink. For several minutes she tinkered around, while Castle became increasingly confused. That is, until she undid the straps of her sinfully tight overalls.

Sliding the denim down her body, Beckett also kicked off the ballet flats. Castle blinked rapidly, gripping the counter to try and maintain control. He could tell that she was wearing nothing underneath the shirt and overalls.

"It's always good to prepare your system before you actually go about meddling with it. With a sink, for example, you need to turn off the water flow to the thing so that you don't get a huge spray of water in your face."

"I hear that can sometimes be a good thing." Castle said, swallowing repeatedly.

"Only if it's at the proper time--like when you've put a stopper on. Would you take a look at this, here?"

Castle got down on all fours and joined her in peering at the pipes. Suddenly, a huge spray of water struck them both front and center, forcing them backwards. Castle spluttered, startled, as Beckett fumbled around blindly. It took her a minute, as one arm was occupied with unsuccessfully blocking the water from her face, but she managed to stop the flow.

They sat, Beckett sitting back on her knees, Castle sitting with his back against the island, breathing hard. Beckett looked down at her soaked, see-through shirt, and then at Castle's equally went clothing.

"Whoops," she said, her tone as far from apologetic as it was possible to get. Before he could move, she crawled towards him. "Let's get you out of those… uncomfortable clothes." She unbuttoned and peeled off his shirt.

Some men might have been frozen. Some men might have stuttered out an excuse. Some men might have tried to stop her. But Richard Castle was a man of action and reckless decisions, and right now, he wanted action and the woman in currently undoing his belt buckle was already being reckless, so…

"No fair. You need to lose your shirt too." He leaned forward and seized the bottom of her sopping wet shirt in his hands, tugging it up and over her head. It caught on her bun and somehow managed to undo it, setting her wet hair free and scattering water droplets over them both.

Beckett latched onto his mouth, allowing him to pull her against him. He assisted her in ridding himself of his pants before standing up and hoisting her onto the counter of the island. She wrapped her legs around his waist before reaching down to take him in her hand, stroking slowly.

"Time to take care of that… blockage, shall we say?" She hummed, nipping at his lip. Castle gripped her wrist, removing her hand from him before he lost it completely. Holding her up a little higher, he helped her to sink onto him. Beckett gave a tiny sigh of contentment before hooking her ankles together.

"Don't worry," she teased, "I work quickly."

Castle sucked at her pulse point, scraping his teeth gently along her neck as he moved steadily, bracing himself against the counter. Pressure began to build inside of him like a backed-up drain (great--now he was thinking in plumbing analogies), until he was about ready to burst. "I'm not gonna…"

She cut him off. "Go ahead--I'm close."

But Castle prided himself on his consideration, so he reached down between them to work her with his fingers. Having such a hands-on job, he was sure that she would appreciate it. He found her sweet spot surprisingly quickly--at least, judging by her sudden gasp and the way she arched her body, pressing herself against him. She babbled a few words that were mainly incoherent, but must have registered with him on some subconscious level, because he came. His fingers never stopped moving, though, and continued to work until about thirty seconds later, when she came with a scream.

Beckett fully planned on collapsing onto the counter, but Castle refused to let her out of his arms as he slid to the floor, so he took her with him. They lay there in a puddle of water and clothing for roughly a minute, until the clock on the oven began to beep.

The woman in Castle's arms sat straight up. "Rick?" She asked slowly. "What time is it?"

He peered at his watch, which he had somehow forgotten to take off during this entire escapade. "Um… four thirty?"

"Castle!" Kate sprang to her feet, horrified. "Alexis is going to be home in half an hour, if that!"

They somehow managed to get everything cleaned up in time, but their poker faces were ruined when Alexis returned from a trip to the bathroom.

"Hey, Dad? There's something wrong with the toilet. Should we call a plumber?"

Kate and Rick both did lovely spit-takes over the dining room table.


	15. Nikki Heat

"I cannot believe the bastard got away. You are  _not_  writing an article about this."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The couple continued kissing as they made their way through the living room and into the kitchen.

"And if you think a simple make-out session is going to make me feel better…"

The man fumbled blindly, searching for something on the kitchen counter. His hands seized upon two objects, and he broke the kiss to hold them up triumphantly. He grinned at his companion when he saw her expression. "I was thinking more like a reenactment of a certain dark and stormy night?" He waved the tequila bottle and lime in front of her face.

The woman arched an eyebrow, but no matter how ruefully she shook her head, it couldn't fully dispel the smile growing on her face. "Honestly, Rook…" She hopped onto the kitchen counter and seized a knife from the holder. "Pass me the lime."

"I knew you couldn't resist." He waggled his eyebrows at her comically.

Nikki carefully cut the lime into wedges, which she set on the counter. "Salt," she demanded, flapping her hand in the universal gesture for 'gimme.'

"As you wish," Rook replied, bowing with exaggerated gallantry. He passed her the tiny saltshaker, which had been sitting unassumingly next to the pepper on the island.

Nikki licked her hand, and then sprinkled it with salt. "You first," she dared.

Without a moment's hesitation, Rook performed the ritual, the one that had turned their spark into a roaring--and consuming--inferno of heat. Yes, the pun was very much intended.

"Your turn," he said, grinning darkly before swiping the salt. Nikki leaned forward, her too-tight tank top doing an admirable job of showing off her cleavage. She was wearing jeans, a tank top, and a jacket, all of which were just a little too indecent for your typical New York Detective. But then, as her inspiration had often pointed out, Nikki Heat was a stripper name. Why not a borderline-stripper sense of fashion, as well?

Her companion certainly didn't mind it. On the contrary, he was shamelessly getting an eyeful--and, when she scooted closer and he was able to get his hands on her ass, a couple of handfuls as well.

"I'd say we move this to the bedroom, hmm?" Rook hummed, licking a drop of tequila off of her skin, where it had dropped. She tasted almost as salty and burning as the concoction they'd just been downing, and she was easily just as intoxicating.

"C'mon, Writer Monkey." She bit his ear. "And don't forget… pineapples."

This produced a throaty chuckle from him as he made his way towards the bedroom. They never made it, though, because halfway through his office he tripped, landing her on the desk. Neither minded, though, because it was a relatively sturdy surface, and therefore served their purposes well. Nikki bucked against him impatiently.

"Come  _on_ , Rook," she hissed.

In response, he helped to divest her of her jacket. That led to getting rid of his dress shirt, which became the second in a long line of clothing to vanish from their persons. Once they were completely naked, Rook laid her down across the desktop, where she stretched out languidly in anticipation. He took a moment to savor her in the moonlight--this goddess of justice, his avenging angel, his inspiration for far more than just a magazine article.

Nikki slid her hands up his arms and onto his shoulders before gently cupping his face. "Come here," she commanded softly. He lowered himself obligingly, kissing her thoroughly. She made a noise of appreciation as he gently began to move. After so many sessions of lovemaking, they almost molded together, like two pieces of clay rejoining after an unwilling separation. They could be fast, they could be frenzied, they could be fierce, but now they just wanted slow, steady, and sure. A solid pace up the mountain, climbing a path that was well worn but still arduous… and just as rewarding every time.

The thought fluttered in both of their minds, but remained unspoken. This was where it all began. On this desk, the idea, the story, the characters that they were now acting out had been born, shadow puppets of themselves and their trials. The thought was a trifle sobering, but mostly arousing, and both allowed the picture of their alter egos to so consume them that it brought them racing to the top in leaps and bounds, where they flung themselves up and touched the metaphorical sky.

Kate made a half-hearted attempt to get Rick off of her, but quickly gave up. Although more fit than she had originally given him credit for (how the guy found time to work out, she still didn't know), he was a pro at being a dead weight when he felt like it.

"Riiiick…" She whined.

"It totally turned you on, didn't it." His smug tone rendered his question a statement.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed. "Now get off of me. I can't breathe."

"Nuh-uh." He wagged a finger at her. "First, you have to admit that doing it on the desk--as Nikki and Rook--turned you on."

Kate huffed at him, but he still didn't budge. After a moment of glaring, she gave in. "Okay, fine. Yes, it was a total turn-on, yes, you were right about the role-playing, blah, blah, blah."

Rick grinned in triumph.

"So… can we do this more often?"

Kate's glare returned. "Don't push your luck, Castle."


	16. Teacher

Richard Castle stepped into the office, shutting the door behind him. He casually took in his surroundings--the careful placement of every piece in the room, the African art, even the shining name plaque--as he took a chair on one side of the desk.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," said the lady on the other side of the desk. She carefully set down the pen she was holding and studied him over her glasses. Her dress was loose and summery and her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Despite her casual appearance, however, her demeanor made it clear that she was not one to be trifled with.

Rick nodded. "Anything that concerns Alexis is a top priority for me, Miss Beckett."

The teacher--principal, dean, assistant principal--whatever she was, sent him a piercing stare. "Then it is with regret that I have to inform you that your daughter is failing one of the classes necessary to graduate this year."

Predictably, Rick was a little horrified. While he personally didn't care if Alexis graduated or not, he knew that it was a big deal for his daughter. The schoolmarm/teacher/whatever kept talking.

"I know that this can be frustrating, Mr. Castle…"

"Please," he interrupted. "Call me Rick."

"Rick," she amended. "I know that this can be frustrating for you. I'm sure that your daughter's future is a top priority of yours. Therefore, I called you in here in the hopes of alerting you to the situation, and perhaps helping you to find a solution."

She fiddled with the buttons on the front of her dress as Rick leaned back. He raked his eyes over her. She was rather attractive…

"Alexis is a very sweet, hardworking girl," Rick petitioned. "Is there any possible way that you could be… persuaded… to change her grade?" He smiled slowly.

Dean/Principal Beckett looked like she was considering it, but then she cleared her throat and shook her head vigorously. "No, I'm afraid not." Her eyes flicked down to his lips and back up again.

Rick shifted in his seat, his grin widening. "I bet that I could persuade you," he said, dropping his voice just a tad.

The woman across the desk from him swallowed. "Actually, I don't think that you could."

"Is that a challenge?" He demanded.

Something flashed in her eyes, and she got up from her chair, splaying her hands across the desk and leaning forward towards him. "You know what, Mr.--Rick–-maybe it is."

Rick stood up as well, walking around the desk towards her. "Well then, Miss Beckett," he said, tasting the name on his tongue. "Do you have a first name?"

"Kate." She blurted it out automatically, and then looked furious with herself for revealing it.

"Well, Kate, I think that you're being a little harsh." With every word he spoke, he took another step towards her. "Maybe you need someone to show you how to… loosen up a little, relax, let your hair down."

He was so close to her that the space between them was little more than an inch. At his last comment, he reached up and tugged her hair free of the ponytail, setting it free to tumble about her face and shoulders. Now that it wasn't pulled back, he could see all the different shades and natural highlights it had. She really was a lovely creature.

Kate took a deep breath, as if rallying her strength. "If this is all you've got, Mr. Castle, then–"

He cut her off by planting his mouth over hers, almost crushing her to him as his hands gripped her arms. She let out a whoosh of breath, which in turn made her open her mouth, which led to him slipping his tongue in. They battled fiercely for control, their oral skirmish making them maneuver their bodies, with her ending up bent backwards over the desk and him on top, various knickknacks knocked over or rolling on the floor. Finally he broke away, breathless.

"That's Rick to you, Kate." He drew out the 'a' in her name. "Or does the teacher need to learn a lesson?"

Fire roared in her eyes, and she pushed him off of her and onto the floor, straddling him. "Maybe the teacher needs to show a disobedient pupil who's in charge," she warned, her voice sultry but charged with electricity. It was an immense turn-on.

He sat up, refusing to let her have the upper hand, stealing her lips for another kiss--this one hard enough to bruise. Kate started to undo the buttons on her dress, but he batted her hands away, insisting on doing it himself. In retaliation, she undid his dress shirt.

"I'll bet you were always the rowdy whelp in class." It was supposed to be a snarl, but she was too aroused for that.

"And I'm sure you were every teacher's pet," Rick retorted.

They were down to her underwear and his pants. He grabbed her and roughly pulled her towards him, crushing her chest to his. With a flick of the wrist, her bra was undone.

"Fancy," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Wait 'til the real show starts." He reached down and felt for her underwear. He didn't want to lose the blissful skin-to-skin they had going on, so instead of trying to pull it down her legs, he simply ripped them off.

Kate gasped in shock, anger, and no small amount of arousal. In response, she undid his belt, sliding it out from the loops on his jeans and lightly smacking the back of his hand with it.

"Those were a gift!" She hissed.

"I'll buy you another pair," he assured her, bending down to suck at her throat. He didn't bother to be gentle, nipping and tugging at her skin, sowing the seeds for a lovely garden of bruises in the morning. She tugged at his hair and began to gyrate her hips.

" _Rick_." Her voice burned his ears with delicious sin. "You will get in me now."

"Didn't they teach you in school? 'Patience is a virtue'." He chuckled against her skin as he began to work on her left breast.

She panted unashamedly, her nails raking across his back. "Don't make me discipline you."

Judging by he way his head shot up (as well as another part of his body), he didn't mind the idea at all, but he obliged her. He wasn't, however, gentle. He pinned her to the office floor, sparing only a moment to edge his way into her before thrusting in hard. Kate gave a cry of pleasure.

"I'm not going to last," he warned her.

"Good." She ground against him, fixing him with a wicked smile. "Time for P.E."

Rick moved almost frantically, pleased with how she met him thrust for thrust, egging him on with both curses and encouragement. Every man likes to brag about his staying power, but there are times when there is a need for speed, and this was one of those times. Within the span of two minutes, the dam broke. His part of the challenge nearly complete, the feel of him rushing through her set her off, and Kate followed with a wordless, hoarse cry.

They allowed themselves a few seconds to catch their breath before beginning to gather their things. Rick was bent over, retrieving his shirt, when he felt a slight sting on his ass. He turned.

Kate stood in nothing but her heels, running his belt through her fingers. "A plus," she assured him with a wink.

Rick grinned wide enough to split his face. "We are  _so_  going to have to act this one out again."


	17. Firefly

He didn't bother knocking, but then, he never did. It was just another (fine and dandy) way to irk her.

And oh, did he love to see her all riled. She was beyond adorable when she was in a state.

"What did I say about entering my quarters without asking?" The woman meditating on the bed demanded.

"That it was manly and impulsive?" He hazarded.

She opened one eye. "Yes, but my exact words were, 'Don't'."

"But where would the fun be in that?" He asked, plopping himself down on the bed. She opened her other eye in order to properly glare at him.

"Is there something you want, Mal?" She asked. "Tea, perhaps?"

"No, thanks, I don't need that stuff." He grinned. The companion rolled her eyes, her carefully painted lips parting slightly as she gritted her teeth.

"What, then?" She demanded.

"Inara," he said slowly, "I got somethin' I've been meanin' to address with you."

She must have sensed the earnestness in his tone because she uncrossed her legs, made herself more comfortable, and actually kept her mouth shut to listen. He took this as encouragement and continued.

"Look. You gotta understand that this is somethin' that's been goin' on a long time. I just ain't had a real mind to talk about it 'til now."

She nodded once, deliberately.

"But ever since Nandi…"

Her breath stopped.

"I just felt a powerful need to get it out."

She nodded slowly. "I think I know what you're going to say." She sucked in a breath, blinking. "And I need you to leave, now."

He blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I said leave." She pointed towards the door.

He grew angry at that. "So, you're just going to push me away again," he stated. "You're going to be a coward. You know that, don't you, Inara? You're just a coward. A damn coward."

He began to stalk towards the door, but her words stopped him.

"It's dangerous. My profession… it's complicated. And the life that we lead–"

"I love you!" He bellowed. "I love you, you stubborn, high-falutin' woman, and if you'd just give me half of a chance, you'd see how good we'd be together!"

She laughed. "Are you serious? Mal, what are you on? We can hardly spend five minutes together without fighting!"

"We only fight because that's all we can do, what with all the tension. I ain't gonna lie to you, Inara. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on and I'm not afraid to tell you that I've wanted you for a good long while now. But  _not_ ," He fixed her with his sternest giving-orders glare, "As a client. Never as a client."

She took a breath. "I won't be able to leave," she whispered. "It's hard enough now, but if I… if we let ourselves…" She looked down at the bed, as if she could draw strength from the Chinese patterns woven in the sheets. "I imagine you," she said, her voice barely discernable. "No matter the client, I imagine it's you."

He took a step towards her. "I don't know what happened to you to make you so powerful scared, Inara, but I promise you–"

"That's just the point, Mal!" She burst out. "You can't promise me anything! You're smugglers, two of whom fought against unification, and we're harboring two fugitives the entire known universe is looking for! Every day could be our last!"

"Then what's the point in waiting?" He replied just as heatedly. "I don't know if today or tomorrow or a hundred years from now I'm gonna get blown to bits, so I'm gonna keep doin' what I love and that includes bein' with you!"

The strength seemed to drain out of her, and she sank back onto the bed. He crossed the room quickly, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her back up to a standing position. She began to protest. "Mal, don't you dare–"

He kissed her, almost crushing her body to him with the force of it. Despite his rough bearing and obvious passion, however, he was rather gentle with her. After a moment of slight struggle, she melted against him, her hands coming up to grip his (dirt-smeared) shirt. They stood there for an unidentifiable amount of time, frozen except for their oral tango, until air became and issue and they broke the suction.

"Mal…"

He looked her up and down. Thinking that she was going to turn him away, he made to back out of the room. She fisted her hands tighter in his shirt, tugging at him to keep him close.

"Don't you dare," she warned him. "You're going to finish what you started, you gorram charming pigheaded idiot!" She kissed him fiercely, and there was no more time for talking (or arguing, or insulting) after that.

Whatever arts she might have been able to employ--either in seduction or pleasuring a man--were abandoned, set aside for another time. There would be time, oh yes, plenty of times afterwards to give him all that she had learned in her years of training and as a member of the guild. But for now, ferocity and instinct ruled the day. Two hotheaded, strong-willed people, each with their own scars on their souls, taking what they could and giving all they had.

She began to crawl backwards onto the bed, stripping herself of her silk clothing (a mixture of Indian saris and Renaissance haute couture) as she went. His boots proved to be quite an issue, but eventually they were thrown across the room, which meant that his pants and shirt could soon follow. His hands ran along her body as his mouth clutched at her skin, sucking and kissing with such franticness one could be forgiven for thinking he was worried she would vanish into smoke. His companion, for her part, was allowing herself a rare moment of pure, uninhibited action, rubbing herself against him and analyzing every inch of his tough, battle-scarred skin with her precise hands.

"God, you're so beautiful…" He murmured, his mouth pressed against her stomach and muffling his words. "Perfect…" He kissed her thigh. "So perfect…"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to flatter me," she replied, bucking her hips slightly. "Now hurry up!"

He crawled back up her body, planting a kiss on the hollow of her throat. Her nails dug into his back. "And here I thought your profession was all about the art of sex…"

"All artists have moments of sloppiness." Her eyes were narrowing dangerously.

Sensing that a tongue-lashing (and not the good kind) was on its way, he sought to oblige her and positioned himself above her. "Are you sure about this?" He whispered.

She stared at him for a moment, surprised. "You started all this and now you're afraid to finish?" She asked, incredulous.

He shook his head. "I want to make sure that you're here for everything. A hundred percent. No going back."

She nodded, arching her back to press her body closer. "I know," she whispered. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, hooking on leg around his hip. One of his hands automatically came up to hold her leg in place. "I don't want to go back."

He entered her slowly, allowing the feel of it to take over. They both abandoned all thoughts, all fears and doubts, and let pure sensation to overcome them.

It was slow, but that didn't mean that it wasn't intense. Every thrust, every clench, every sound was magnified, deeper and stronger than either had felt before. It was scary and amazing. It was awe-inspiring in the true sense of the word. It left them breathless on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in wonder, as golden aftershocks slowly faded away.

He turned onto his side and pulled her in towards him. Her pale skin glowed with sweat, and her hair was sticking to her. Her makeup was smeared, and she had a lazy, deliriously happy smile on her face. It was the only time he'd ever seen her less than impeccable; usually she didn't have a single hair out of place. He liked this disheveled look.

"I'll admit I was reluctant," Kate said slowly, "But I think that one was my favorite."

Rick grinned lazily. "Then we'll just have to do it again. I have a couple other versions I'd be willing to share."

Kate laughed, settling in against his chest. "Whatever you say, space cowboy. Whatever you say."


End file.
